r        — - 

LIBRARY 

Ur- 
C. 


73 

35/5 
3  If 5 

IV? 


WITH    PIPE    AND    BOOK 


CARPE   DIEM 

In  (allege  verse,  in  equal  share, 

Love,  fun  and  wine  are  everywhere  ; 

Here  walks  with  shaking  sides  the  down, 
And  here,  in  solemn  cap  and  gown, 

Cupid  usurps  the  teacher1  s  chair  ; 

And  every  maid  is  debonair. 

And  motley  is  the  only  wear, 

GamAriHUf'  wreath  the  only  crown, 
In  college  verse. 

Ah,  bright  the  flowers  that  blossom  there  ; 

Ah,  light  the  hours  and  free  from  tare  ; 
Banished  the  sigh,  forgot  the  frown, 
The  restless  ghosts  that  will  not  down  ; 

And  youth  is  gay,  and  life  is  fair, 
In  college  verse. 

JAMES  Will*   LINN 


With   Pipe  and   Book 


A  Collection  of 
. . .  College  Verse 


Chosen  by 
Joseph   Le   Roy   Harrison 

Editor  of  "  Caf  and  Gown  " 


"The  philosophy  of  life's  afternoon  is  a  poor  exchange 
for  the  poetry  of  its  morning  " 

C.   T.   WINCHESTER 


Preston  and  Rounds  Company 
Providence       .       •        •       MDCCCXCVII 


Copyright,  1897, 
By  Preston  and  Rounds  Company. 


To 
Col.  Timothy  Shaler  Williams 


COLLEGE   PAPERS    REPRESENTED 


Amherst  College    . 

Boston  College .      .      .     . 
Brown  University  . 

Columbia  University    . 
Cornell  University  . 

Dartmouth  College 
Hamilton  College    .     . 
Harvard  University 
Lehigh  University  . 
Leland  Stanford  Jr.  Univ.  . 
Mount  Holyoke  College    , 
Notre  Dame  University 
Princeton  University    . 

Smith  College   .     .     .     . 
Trinity  College        .      . 
University  of  Chicago  . 
University  of  Michigan 
University  of  Minnesota     . 
University  of  Pennsylvania. 


Amherst  Literary  Monthly. 

Amherst  Student. 

Stylus. 

Brown  Magazine. 

Brunonian. 

Columbia  Literary  Monthly. 

Cornell  Era. 

Cornell  Magazine. 

Dartmouth  Literary  Monthly. 

Hamilton  Literary  Monthly. 

Harvard  Advocate. 

Lehigh  Burr. 

Sequoia. 

Mount  Holyoke. 

Notre  Dame  Scholastic. 

Nassau  Literary  Monthly. 

Princeton  Tiger. 

Smith  College  Monthly. 

Trinity  Tablet. 

University  of  Chicago  Weekly. 

Inlander. 

Minnesota  Magazine. 

Red  and  Blue. 

7 


College  Papers  Represented 


University  of  Rochester 
University  of  Tennessee     . 
University  of  Vermont 
University  of  Virginia  . 
University  of  Wisconsin     . 
Vassar  College  . 
Washington  and  Lee  Univ. 
Wellesley  College    .     .      . 
Wesleyan  University     . 
Williams  College     .      .      . 

Yale  University      .     .     . 


Campus. 

Tennessee  Univ.  Magazine. 

University  Cynic. 

Univ.  of  Virginia  Magazine. 

Wisconsin  /T'.gis. 

Vassar  Miscellany. 

Southern  Collegian. 

Wellesley  Magazine. 

Wesleyan  Literary  Monthly. 

Williams  Athenaeum. 

Williams  Literary  Monthly. 

Yale  Courant. 

Yale  Literary  Magazine. 

Yale  Record. 


CONTENTS 


April  .... 
At  Sweet  Sixteen  . 
At  the  Sea  .  .  .  . 

Ballade  of  a  Kiss,  The  . 
Ballad  of  Dorothy,  A  . 
Banquet  Song    . 
Bashful  Johnny 
Boccherini's  Minuet 

Carpe  Diem 

Cheer 

Chivalry        . 
Christmas  Morning 
Cloudland    .      .      .      . 
Colin' s  Call       .      .      . 
Comin'  thro"  the  Rye  . 
Coquette,  A       .      .      . 
Crocuses,  The  .      .      , 
"  Crux  Fidelis  "      . 

Die  Weinstube  .      .      . 
Di's  Smile  .      .     .     . 
Doris's  Shoestrings . 
Dorothy       .      .      .      . 
Dream  Song 
Drinking  Song . 

Fairyland 

Fayre  Ladye  Lalage 
First  Snowstorm,  The  . 


Yale  Literary  Magazine,  52 
Tennessee  Univ.  Magazine,  52 
Red  and  Blue,  115 

Harvard  Advocate,  113 
Williams  Literary  Monthly,  36 
Dartmouth  Literary  Monthly,  144 
Williams  Literary  Monthly,  33 
Williams  Athenaeum,  40 

Univ.  of  Chicago  Weekly,  2 

Brown  Magazine,  120 

Yale  Literary  Magazine,  62 

Yale  Courant,  117 

Columbia  Literary  Monthly,  136 

Red  and  Blue,  44 

Yale  Record,  30 

Brunonian,    1 5 

Wellesley  Magazine,  71 

Harvard  Advocate,  135 

Yale  Courant,  56 
Amherst  Student,  1 39 
Vassar  Miscellany,  146 
Yale  Courant,  58 
Smith  College  Monthly,  94 
Brown  Magazine,  24  • 

Wellesley  Magazine,  59 
Harvard  Advocate,  103 
Vassar  Miscellany,  78 


Contents 


Free Nassau  Literary  Monthly,  19 

Free  Lances       .     .     .  Harvard  Advocate,  67 

Fool's  Ballad     .     .      .  Yale  Courant,  145 

Glee  Club  Concert, The.  Univ.  of  Chicago  Weekly,  66 

Heliotrope    ....  Harvard  Advocate,  108 

Her  Light  Guitar    .     .  Amherst  Literary  Monthly,  148 

Humble  Romance,  A  .  Vassar  Miscellany,  53 


I  Dream  of  Thee  .  . 

If  I  but  knew  .  .  . 
Immer  Mehr  . 

In  Cap  and  Bells  .  . 

Influence     .      .  .  . 

In  Modern  Times  .  . 

In  the  Dark      .  .  . 

In  the  Jim  Valley  .  . 

In  the  Pines      .  .  . 

Jacqueminot 

Jock  and  Jenny       .      . 

Late 

Letting  down  the  Ban  . 

Lines 

Little  Bird,  A  .  .  . 
Little  Blind  Beggar,  The 
"Little  Dan  Cupid"  . 
Lost  Love  .... 
Love's  Origin  . 

Lullaby 

Lullaby 


Univ.  of  Chicago  Weekly,  109 
Stylus,  55 

Harvard  Advocate,  88 
Harvard  Advocate,  105 
Southern  Collegian,  20 
Amherst  Literary  Monthly,  107 
Williams  Literary  Monthly,  61 
Minnesota  Magazine,  41 
Vassar  Miscellany,  18 

Wesleyan  Literary  Monthly,  99 
Yale  Courant,  76 


Wisconsin  ^gis,  119 
Red  and  Blue,  101 
Cornell  Era,  129 
Smith  College  Monthly,  22 
.   Smith  College  Monthly,  128 
Vassar  Miscellany,  25 
Lehigh  Burr,  92 
Brunonian,  70 
Wellesley  Magazine,  34 
Welksley  Magazine,  86 


Mabel Red  and  Blue,  65 

Manoa Brown  Magazine,  126 


May  Song,  A 

Midsummer    Night's 

Dream,  A  . 
Misunderstanding,  A 


Univ.  of  Chicago  Weekly,  98 

Mount  Holyoke,  131 
Wellesley  Magazine,  69 

10 


Contents 

Month  of  Magic,  The  .  Wesleyan  Literary  Monthly,  23 

My  Hounds       .      .     .  Vassar  Miscellany,  89 

My  Lady  in  the  Garden.  Dartmouth  Literary  Monthly,  125 

My  Lady  Nicotine  .      .  Columbia  Literary  Monthly,  84 

My  Old  Guitar       .      .  Yale  Record,  75 

My  Pipe      ....  Lehigh  Burr,  48 

My  Quest    ....  Trinity  Tablet,  114 

Night  Wind's  Song, The  .  Inlander,  85 

Nineteenth  Century, The  .  Williams  Literary  Monthly,  64 

Now  and  Then       .      .   Trinity  Tablet,  106 

Oh,  for  the  storm-scarred 

headlands  .      .   Harvard  Advocate,  51 

Old  Love  Song,  The  .   Campus,   137 
On  the  Retired  List      .    Princeton  Tiger,  38 
Polly,  my  Sweetheart  .   Inlander,  72 
"  Poor  Cupid  froze  his 

wings  one  day  "     .   Wellesley  Magazine,  39 
Prom.  Roses     .      .     .   Yale  Record,  91 

Ring-doves  and  Roses  .   Yale  Courant,  50 
Rondeau       ....   Smith  College  Monthly,  68 
Rondeau  :    With    Pipe 

and  Book    .     .     .  Yale  Courant,  1 3 
Saint    Nicholas  —  His 

Roundelay  .      .      .  Yale  Courant,  28 
Serenade       ....   Williams  Literary  Monthly,  112 
Since  Agnes  died     .      .   Brown  Magazine,     27 
Skating  Song,  A    .      .   Nassau  Literary  Monthly,  121 
Slumber  Song    .      .      .    University  Cynic,  131 

Song Red  and  Blue,  101 

Song Williams  Literary  Monthly,  73 

Song,  A       ....    Nassau  Literary  Monthly,    134 
Song  of  Joy,  A       .     .    Univ.  of  Chicago  Weekly,  14 
Song  of  Mistress  Anne,  A  .  Williams  Literary  Monthly,  17 
Song  of  Return      .     .   Univ.  of  Chicago  Weekly,  90 
Song  of  the  Jolly  Fat 

Friar,  The  .      .      .    Harvard  Advocate,  80 

I  I 


Contents 

Song  of  the  Sea  Flight .  Amherst  Literary  Monthly,  97 

So  runs  the  World  .     .  Vassar  Miscellany,  35 

Southern      ....  Cornell  Era,  148 
Star  of  Bethlehem,  The  .   Vassar  Miscellany,  93 

Stolen  Glance,  A    .     .  Brunonhn,  139 

Suppose Wellesley  Magazine,  80 

Sword  Song       .     .     .  Hamilton  Literary  Monthly,  109 

Tardy-bug  Men,  The  .  Minnesota  Magazine,  141 

Three  Points  of  View  .  Notre  Dame  Scholastic,  113 

To  a  Friend  in  Love    .  Wesleyan  Argus,  47 
To  a  Girl  on  a  Greek 

Frieze    ....  Wesleyan  Argus,  46 

To  a  Miniature       .     .  Vassar  Miscellany,  2 1 

To  a  Spray  of  Violets  .  Red  and  Blue,  104 
To  the  Valley  of  Dreams.  Notre  Dame  Scholastic,  150 

Triolet Sequoia,  60 

Twilight  Song  .      .      .  Vassar  Miscellany,  63 

Twilight  Song  .      .      .  Yale  Courant,  1 1 8 

Upon  her  Mandolin     .  Harvard  Advocate,  78 

Valentine,  A     ...  Williams  Literary  Monthly,  8  a 

When  chime  the  Bells.  Brunonian,  143 

When  Love  was  born  .  Cornell  Era,  83 

When  Morning  breaks.  Cornell  Magazine,    140 

When  Stars  come  out .  Univ.  of  Virginia  Magazine,  124 

"When  the  last  light, 

dim  and  still  "  .      .  Yale  Literary  Magazine,   133 

When  the  Tide  is  low  .  University  Cynic,  1 1 1 

Where  Cupid  dwells     .  Yale  Courant,  95 

Where  Love  dwells      .  Yale  Courant,  87 

With  Jenny  in  the  Rain.  Yale  Courant,  45 

Woodland  Whispers     .  Univ.  of  Virginia  Magazine,  96 

Ye  Golde-headed  Cane.  Wesleyan  Literary  Monthly,  3 1 

Yesterday     ....  Southern  Collegian,  119 

12 


With  Pipe  and  Book 


RONDEAU 

T  T  7ITH  pipe  and  book,  an  old  arm-chair, 
A  glowing  hearth,  what  need  I  care 

For  empty  honors,  wealth  or  fame  ? 

Grant  me  but  this  ;  an  honest  name, 

A  cup  of  ale,  a  coat  to  wear. 

And  then,  while  smoke-wreaths  rift  the  air, 

The  banquet  of  the  gods  I  share, 

Content  to  sit  before  the  flame 
With  pipe  and  book. 

Above  the  city's  noisy  glare, 
.Yet  sweet,  tho'  humble,  is  my  fare  ; 
For  changing  not  from  praise  to  blame, 
These  faithful  friends  are  still  the  same  — 
No  earthly  comforts  can  compare 
With  pipe  and  book. 

CHARLES    E.     MERRILL,  JR. 
13 


With  Pipe  and  Book 
A   SONG   OF  JOY 


SING  songs  of  gladness 

Merry  and  gay, 
Mad  with  the  madness 

Of  life's  roundelay; 
Lays  turned  to  lightness 

Sweet  as  the  day, 
Full  of  the  brightness 

Of  love's  holiday. 


Sing  songs  of  gladness 

Joyous  and  free, 
Scatter  life's  sadness 

Mid  jollity; 
Make  music's  measure 

Rolic  and  ring, 
Pent  with  the  pleasure 

Of  youth  and  the  spring. 

in 

Sing  songs  of  gladness 
Merry  with  mirth, 
•4 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Laugh  away  sadness, 

Gladden  the  earth  ; 
Burst  out  in  singing, 

Sing  all  the  day,  — 
'Ere  life  may  be  bringing 
Death  to  thy  play. 

CHARLES    SUMNER    PIKE. 


A  COQUETTE 

OH,  I  see  where  you're  sitting, 

Out  there  with  your  knitting  ; 

You  thought  you  were  hid  by  the  trunk  of  the 

tree. 

But,  Kitty,  believe  me, 
You  cannot  deceive  me, 
I'd. find  you  wherever  you  happened  to  be. 

CHORUS  : 

Then  'tis  come  to  me,  Kitty, 
It's  you  that  looks  pretty, 
With  your  neat  little  feet  and  your  trim  little 
waist. 

'5 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

So  Jon*  t  be  so  simple, 

But  bring  me  that  dimple, 

And  give  jour  own  Barney  a  bit  of  a  taste. 


How  your  needles  are  flying, 

As  with  them  you're  tying 

And  looping  away  at  your  bright  worsted  thread  ; 

And  it's  little  you're  caring 

If  in  it  you're  snaring 

The  heart  of  a  lover  you  never  would  wed. 

CHORUS  : 

Then  it's  come  to  me,  Kitty,  etc. 

Though  your  fingers  are  dancing, 

I  see  that  your' re  glancing 

Aside  at  me  here  through  the  tail  of  your  eye. 

Then  why  should  you  wait,  now, 

But  come  to  the  gate,  now, 

And  give  me  a  kiss  while  I  bid  you  good-bye. 

CHORUS  : 

Then  it's  come  to  me,  Kitty,  etc. 

HENRY    MORGAN    STONE. 

16 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

A    SONG   OF   MISTRESS   ANNE 

IN  farthingale  and  satin  gown, 

Sing  hey,  my  lady  ! 

Comes  Mistress  Anne  from  London-town 
To  Dingledale  on  Crosswood  Down 

When  country  lanes  are  shady  ! 

Blue  are  her  eyes  as  June-tide  skies, 

Sing  hey,  my  lady  ! 
June's  sunshine  in  her  soft  hair  lies, 
Oh,  who  will  win  her  beauty's  prize 

When  country  lanes  are  shady  ? 

She  lays  aside  her  satin  gown, 

Sing  hey,  my  lady  ! 
And  dons  a  frock  o'  russet  brown, 
To  pluck  dog-roses  on  the  Down 

When  country  lanes  are  shady! 

O  rustic  swains,  who  find  her  fair, 

Sing  hey,  my  lady  ! 
Trust  not  her  simple  artless  air, 
Unless,  perchance,  she  flout  you  there 

Where  country  lanes  are  shady  ! 

ARTHUR   KETCHUM. 

17 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

IN   THE   PINES 

THERE  were  three  of  us  —  Cupid  went  with  us, 

you  know, 

Dear  blindfolded  boy,  who  is  never  de  trap, 
And  the  words  left  unsaid  the  soft  winds  whis 
pered  low, 

In  the  pines. 

A  small  gift  she  gave  me  —  though  blind,   it  is 

true, 
From  the  way  that  he  laughed  I  am  sure  Cupid 

knew, 

And  the  asters  and  goldenrod,  they  saw  it  too, 
And  the  pines. 

Then  the  shadows  grew   dark  in  the  wood's 

tangled  growth, 
And  homeward  we  turned  in  the  twilight,  half 

loath, 
And  Love  walked  between  with  an  arm  around 

both, 

Through  the  pines. 

JULIET    WILBUR    TOMPK1NS. 

18 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

FREE 

LOOSED  are  the  bonds  that  held  my  soul, 

And  afar  on  the  leaping  bay 
I  steer  with  the  North  Star  for  my  goal, 
At  the  close  of  the  autumn  day. 

Then  hey  !    for  the  rush  of   the    cutting 

prow 

And  the  thrill  of  a  wild  delight  — 
Where  the  bell-buoy  swings  as  the  sea-gull 

clings 
I  gloom  thro'  the  wave-born  night. 

I  was  clamped  by  a  horror  beyond  all  name, 

A  plaything  to  bless  or  to  ban, 
Till  the  spirit  within  me  surged  in  flame 
And  I  knew  I  was  yet  a  man. 

Then  hey  !    for  the  great  brown  wing  I 

love, 

The  swoop  of  the  sail  in  the  breeze, 

For  the  jarring  sound  of  the  past  is  drowned 

'Mid  the  clash  of  the  tumbling  seas. 

The  will  has  won  in  a  life's  revolt  — 
A  weird  voice  bids  me  forth  — 
'9 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

And  keen  as  the  stabbing  thunderbolt 
I  haste  toward  the  mystic  north. 

Then  hey  !  for  the  whirlwind,  headlong, 

grim, 

And  hey  !  for  the  ice-king's  glee. 
Thro'  zephyr  and  gale  alike  I  sail  — 
Unfettered  and  fierce  and  free. 

DAVID    POTTER. 


INFLUENCE 

I  WONDER  if  ever  a  wave  ebbs  out  but  it  breaks 
on  a  distant  shore, 

Or  fall  any  tears 

But  the  faces  of  years 
Are  stained  thro'  the  Evermore  ? 


I  wonder  if  ever  a  day  is  born  or  an  evening  to 
twilight  steals, 

But  they  leave  a  mark 
Thro'  the  gathering  dark 
In  the  print  of  their  golden  wheels  ? 
20 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

I  wonder  if  ever  a  word  is  said  or  ever  a  song 
is  sung, 

But  their  souls  live  on 

When  their  sounds  are  gone  — 

In  the  Palace  of"  Silence  hung  ? 

I  wonder  if  ever  a  life  is  lived  but  its  being  gives 
sweet  to  some, 

But  its  hands  touch  still, 

And  its  dream-voice  will 
Speak  after  its  lips  are  dumb  ? 

And  so  may  it  be,  thou  forgotten  one,  when 
the  cup  of  thy  life  is  filled, 
That  the  world  drink  up 
From  the  shattered  cup 
Whatever  and  all  that  is  spilled. 

WILLIAM    H.     FIELD. 


TO  A  MINIATURE 

SWEET  maid  of  old,  with  powdered  hair, 
With  face  and  form  forever  fair, 
Such  joy  was  never  seen  before  ; 

21 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

Thou'st  smiled  for  fifty  years  and  more. 
Didst  never  weep  nor  feel  a  care  ? 

Did  lovers  brave  always  adore, 
And  noble  vows  breathe  o'er  and  o'er  ? 
Such  homage  now  indeed  is  rare, 
Sweet  maid  of  old. 

Art  never  weary  sitting  there 
In  the  old-fashioned,  high-back  chair  ? 
Tell  me,  dear  maiden,  I  implore, 
Did  blessings  ever  on  thee  pour, 
And  was  the  whole  world,  like  thee,  fair, 
Sweet  maid  of  old  ? 

MARIE  REIMER. 


A  LITTLE  BIRD 

A  LITTLE  bird  in  a  tree 
Made  one  —  a  man  and  maiden  three. 
'Twas  not  by  chance  that  they  had  met ! 
««  None  see,"  they  said  ;  one  can  forget 
A  little  bird. 

22 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

A  long  hot  road,  a  strip  of  grass, 
'Twould  tempt  the  Fates  to  let  it  pass  ! 
Two  people  linger  in  the  walk ; 
There's  only  one  to  hear  them  talk, 

A  little  bird. 

Long  shadows  stretched  across  the  sky, 
Two  people  parted  with  a  sigh, 
But  there  was  no  one  there  to  see  ! 
How  do  I  know  ?  and  who  told  me  ? 
A  little  bird. 

E.  R.  C. 


THE   MONTH   OF   MAGIC 

WHEN  the  bee,  that  idle  skipper, 

Steers  his  shallop  down  the  breeze  ; 
Launching  from  the  lady's  slipper, 

Anchoring  in  the  lilac  trees,  — 
When  the  marsh-bird's  ditty  amorous 

(Where  the  indian-turnip  grows) 
Mingles  with  the  psan  clamorous 

From  the  black  heart  of  the  crows,  - 
When  the  breath  of  roses  lingers 

Like  an  incense  in  the  sky,  — 
23 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

When  the  odor  of  syringas 

Tempts  the  vagrant  butterfly,  — 
When  the  moth,  a  knavish  fellow, 

Steals  the  coins  of  gold  that  shine 
In  the  cowslip's  purse  of  yellow, 

Sacks  and  robs  the  lily's  shrine,  — 
When  the  ether  throbs  with  question  — 

Intimation  —  whispered  prayer  — 
Orioles,  full  of  sly  suggestion, 

Drop  a  hint  down  through  the  air,  — 
Then  by  some  strange  necromancy 

Sad  old  Earth  is  set  to  tune  ; 
Would  you  know  the  cause  ?     /  fancy 

Heaven  is  keeping  tryst  with  June. 

FREDERIC    LAWRENCE    KNOWLES. 


DRINKING  SONG 

RING  from  the  rim  of  the  glass,  boys, 

Ripples  of  tinkling  tones. 
Drink  to  the  heyday  of  youth,  boys, 

Mindless  of  after  moans. 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Over  the  rim  of"  the  glass,  boys, 
Gaze  into  eyes  that  are  bright. 

Drink  with  each  sip  of  the  wine,  boys, 
Passionate  gleams  of  delight. 

Sing  to  the  rim  of  the  glass,  boys, 

Chorus  wherever  we  roam. 
Drink  to  the  sparkling-eyed  depths,  boys, 

A  love  as  light  as  its  foam. 

Kiss  the  rim  of  the  glass,  boys, 

Blind  to  its  siren-gleam. 
Drink  to  its  shading  depths,  boys, 

The  wav'ring  forms  of  a  dream. 

Then  ring  from  the  rim  of  the  glass,  boys, 

Ripples  of  tinkling  tones. 
Drink  to  the  heyday  of  youth,  boys, 

Mindless  of  after-moans. 

JOHN    CLINTON    ANTHONY. 


"LITTLE  DAN  CUPID" 

LITTLE  Dan  Cupid  stole  down  on  a  sunbeam, 
To  get  of  this  old  earth  a  peep. 
25 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

He  was  tired  of  play  with  toy  hearts  and  blunt 

arrows, 
And  his  good  mother  Love  was  asleep. 

Little  Dan  Cupid  rode  home  on  the  moon -ray, 
And  bore  to  his  mother  as  trophies  of  might 
Two  human  hearts,   pierced  and  bleeding,  en 
folded 

In  a  bit  of  the  gray  mist  that  shrouded  the 
night. 

"Ah,    naughty    Dan    Cupid!"    Love   cried; 

her  tears  falling 
Were  like  the  sweet  dropping  of  soft  April 

rain  ; 

"  Knewest  thou  not  that  in  all  the  wide  heaven 
No  healing  is  found   for  Love's  wounds  or 
Love's  pain  ?" 

The  pitying  All- Mother  took  to  her  bosom 
The  poor  bearing  things  by  Dan  Cupid  un 
done. 

««  At  least,  ye  may  bear  it  together,"  she  mur 
mured, 
And  tenderly  kissed  the  two  souls  into  one. 

AMY  LOUISE    REED. 
26 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

SINCE  AGNES  DIED 

THEY  say  that  the  brook  makes  music  soft 

As  ever  in  its  pebbly  bed, 
That  the  leaves  still  whisper  sweet  aloft 

In  springtime  when  the  robins  wed. 
Well,  yes,  they  may  —  I  cannot  say  — 
Since  Agnes  died. 


They  say  the  sunshine  still  is  fair, 
That  the  summer  air  is  still  as  sweet, 

When  soft  the  breeze  sighs  everywhere 
In  autumn,  ere  the  long  days  fleet. 

Perhaps  'tis  so — I  do  not  know  — 
Since  Agnes  died. 


They  say  that  gladness  is  not  dead, 
That  the  future  smiles,  and  life  is  gay, 

That  joy  and  hope  have  not  all  fled, 
That  comfort  has  not  passed  away. 

It  may  be  —  well  —  I  cannot  tell  — 
Since  Agnes  died. 

ALBERT    ELLSWORTH    THOMAS. 
2? 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

SAINT  NICHOLAS  — HIS  ROUNDELAY 

ON  Christmas  eve 

You  would  scarce  believe 

How  early  the  sand-man  came  a-creeping  ; 
By  the  way  each  head 
Went  into  the  bed 
When  prayers  were  said 

You'd  have  thought  them  sleeping. 

(You  would  really  have  thought  the  children 
sleeping.) 

Sing  Fol-de-rol-dol-diddle-lol-day, 
Saint  Nicholas  —  bis  roundelay. 

Old  Saint  Nick 
With  his  usual  trick 

Came  upon  the  roof  with  a  terrible  clatter ; 
And  Dolly  and  Sue, 
And  Polly  and  Prue, 
And  Jonathan  too, 
Knew  what  was  the  matter. 
(But  of  course    they  didn't   wake   up    at  the 
clatter.) 

Sing  Fol-de-rol-dol-diddle-lol-daj, 
Saint  Nicholas  —  bis  roundelay. 
28 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Little  Miss  Polly 

Dreamed  of  a  dolly, 
Hung  by  the  wrist  to  a  Christmas  tree, 

And  a  candy  boar, 

With  an  echoing  roar, 

From  the  e-qua-tor 
To  the  frozen  sea. 

(An  astonishing  boar,  'twixt  you  and  me.) 
Sing  Fol-  de-  rol-  do  I-  diddle-  lol-  day, 
Saint  Nicholas  —  his  roundelay. 

Jonathan's  fox 

And  his  Jack-in-the-box, 
Would  beat  Sam  Joneses  all  to  nuthin'. 

Last  Christmas  he 

Had  no  monkey 

Made  beautifully, 
With  sawdust  stuffin. 

(Oh,  Sam  Jones,  he  didn't  'mount  to  nuthin'. ) 
Sing  Fol-de-rol-dol-diddle-lol-day, 
Saint  Nicholas  —  his  roundelay. 

Ah,  Christmas  Day  ! 
The  old  folks  say. 

They  sleep   through  the  night  and    it  doesn't 
matter  ; 

29 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

For  Dolly  and  Sue, 
And  Polly  and  Prue, 
And  Jonathan  too, 
Make  up  for  the  clatter 

Of  Nick  in  the  night,  that's  the  truth  of  the 
matter. 

Stag  Fol-  de-  rol-  do  I-  diddle-  lot-  day, 
Saint  Nicholas  —  bis  roundelay. 

ROBERT    L.     MUNGER. 


COMIN'    THRO'    THE    RYE 

A  DAINTY  little  maiden 

Came  a-tripping  through  the  rye, 
An  airy  bit  of  womanhood, 
With  laughter  in  her  eye. 
A  jaunty  little  lassy, 

With  a  little  coy  way, 
As  merrily  she  tripped  along 
To  that  natty  Scottish  lay: 
"  Gin  a- body  meet  a- tody 
Comin'  tbroj  the  rye, 
Gin  a-body  kiss  a-body 
Need  a-body  try?" 
3° 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

A  brawny,  Scottish  laddie 

Was  a-working  in  the  rye  ; 
A  brawny,  fearless  fellow, 

But  a  trifle  bit  too  shy. 
A  bashful,  blushing  laddie, 

At  that  coy  maiden's  dare, 
As  merrily  she  tripped  along 

To  that  natty  Scottish  air. 

H.     H.     TOWNSEND. 


YE   GOLDE-HEADED    CANE 

IT  stands  in  the  corner  yet,  stately  and  tall, 

With  a  top  that  once  shone  like  the  sun  ; 
It  whispers  of  musterfield,  playhouse  and  ball, 

Of  gallantries,  courtship  and  fun. 
It  is  hardly  the  stick  for  the  dude  of  to-day, 

He  would  swear  it  was  "deucedly  plain," 
But  the  halos  of  memory  crown  its  decay  — 

My  grandfather's  gold-headed  cane. 

It  could  tell  how  a  face  in  a  circling  calash 
Grew  red  as  the  poppies  she  wore, 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

When  a  dandy  stepped  up  with  a  swagger  and 

dash 

And  escorted  her  home  to  her  door. 
How  the  beaux  cried   with  jealousy,    "Jove! 

what  a  buck  !  " 

As  they  glared  at  the  fortunate  swain, 
And  the  wand  which  appeared  to  have  fetched 

him  his  luck  — 
My  grandfather's  gold-headed  cane. 

It  could  tell  of  the  rides  in   the   grand   yellow 

gig 

When,  from  under  a  broad  scuttle  hat, 
The  eyes  of  fair  Polly  were  lustrous  and  big, 

And  —  but  no  !  would  it  dare  tell  of  that  ? 
Ah  me  !  by  those  wiles  that  bespoke  the  coquette 

How  many  a  suitor  was  slain  ! 
There  was  one  though  who  conquered  the  foe 

when  they  met 
With  the  gleam  of  his  gold-headed  cane. 

Oh  the  odors  of  lavender,  lilac  and  musk ! 

They  scent  these  old  halls  even  yet ; 
I  can  still  see  the  dancers  as  down  through  the 

dusk 

They  glide  in  the  grave  minuet. 
3* 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

The   small    satin    slippers,    my   grandmamma's 

pride, 

Long,  long  in  the  chest  have  they  lain  ; 
Let  us  shake  out  the  camphor  and  place  them 

beside 
My  grandfather's  gold-headed  cane. 

FREDERIC    LAWRENCE    KNOWLES. 


BASHFUL  JOHNNY 

YOUNG  bashful  Johnny  loved  sweet  May, 
And  went  to  court  her  every  day, 
But  yet  his  tongue  could  never  swear 

He  loved  her  true. 
It  seems  to  me  had  I  been  there 

I'd  vowed  my  love  —  now  wouldn't  you  ? 

Sweet  May  would  sit  by  Johnny's  side, 
And  all  her  thoughts  to  him  confide, 
Yet  take  her  hand  he'd  never  dare  — 

So  near  his,  too  — 
It  seems  to  me  had  I  been  there 

I'd  clasped  it  tight  —  now  wouldn't  you  ? 

33 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

And  May's  red  lips  seemed  to  invite 

Sweet  kisses  ;  but  so  bold  a  flight 

He  thought  —  yet  wondered  if  she'd  care  — 

Would  never  do. 
It  seems  to  me  had  I  been  there 

I  would  have  kissed  her  —  wouldn't  you  ? 

GEORGE    W.    GILLETTE 


LULLABY 

BREEZES  in  the  tree-tops  high, 
Sighing  softly  as  you  blow, 
Sing  a  restful  lullaby  ; 

Sing  the  sweetest  song  you  know, 
Something  slow,  something  low,  - 
Lulla-lullaby. 

Barley  heads  and  crested  wheat, 

Swaying  gently  to  and  fro, 
Sing  the  music  of  the  heat, 

Sing  the  drowsiest  song  you  know, 
Something  slow,  something  low, 
Lulla-lullaby. 
34 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Brooklet  hidden  in  the  grass, 

Murmuring  faintly  as  you  flow, 
Sing  a  sleep  song  while  you  pass  ; 
Sing  the  dreamiest  song  you  know, 
Something  slow,  something  low,  — 
Lulla-lullaby. 

EMILY    S.    JOHNSON. 


SO    RUNS   THE   WORLD 

MANY  a  day,  many  a  day, 

A  stalwart  knight  on  a  charger  gray 

Galloped  along  the  king's  highway. 
Never  he  stopped  at  the  garden  gate, 
Never  he  looked  through  the  iron  grate, 
But  ever  he  whispered,  "  'Tis  late,  'tis  late, 
I  seek  for  my  princess,  I  cannot  wait." 
(So  runs  the  world,  my  dear.) 

Many  a  day,  many  a  day, 
In  the  garden  close  by  the  king's  highway 
A  lady  sat  spinning  her  bridal  array. 
Never  she  thought  of  the  garden  gate, 
Never  she  stopped  to  look  through  the  grate, 
35 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

But  ever  she  whispered,  "  'Tis  late,  'tis  late, 
My  prince  is  coming,  I  cannot  wait." 
(So  runs  the  world,  my  dear.) 

The  roses  beckoned  over  the  wall, 
The  roadside  birds  never  ceased  to  call, 
The  winds  in  passing  told  it  all,  — 

«« She  is  here,  she  is  here  ;  " 
But  the  prince  rode  into  the  world  away, 
And  the  princess  spun  her  bridal  array, 
Till  youth  was  ended  and  life  was  gray. 
(So  runs  the  world,  my  dear.) 

FANNY  L.    MCKINNEY. 


A   BALLAD   OF   DOROTHY 

IT'S  "  Dorothy  !  where' s  Dorothy  ?  " 

From  morn  to  even  fall, 
There's  not  a  lad  on  Cowslip  Farm 

Who  joins  not  in  the  call. 
It's  Dolly  here  and  Dolly  there, 

Where  can  the  maiden  be  ? 
No  wench  in  all  our  country-side's 

So  fine  as  Dorothy. 
36 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

With  tucked-up  gown  and  shining  pail 

Before  the  day  is  bright, 
Down  dewy  lanes  she  singing  goes 

Among  the  hawthorns  white. 
Perchance,  her  roses  need  her  care 

She  tends  them  faithfully. 
There's  not  a  rose  in  all  the  world 

As  fresh  and  sweet  as  she  ! 


With  morning  sunshine  in  her  hair 

A-churning  Dolly  stands. 
Oh,  happy  churn  !   I  envy  it, 

Held  close  between  her  hands  ; 
And  when  the  crescent  moon  hangs  bright 

Athwart  die  soft  night  sky, 
Down  shadowed  paths  we  strolling  go, 

Just  Dorothy  and  I. 

As  true  of  heart,  as  sweet  efface, 

With  gay  and  girlish  air, 
The  painted  belles  of  citydom 

Are  not  a  whit  as  fair. 
Come  Michaelmas  the  parish  chimes 

Will  ring  out  merrily. 
37 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

Who  is  the  bride  I  lead  to  church  ? 
Why,  who  but  Dorothy  ? 

ARTHUR    KETCHUM. 


ON  THE    RETIRED   LIST 

VET' RAN  dress-coat  !     You've  gone  astray, 
Yes,  you,  old  soldier,  worn  and  gray. 

But  ah  !      High  pride  must  have  its  falls  ; 

You  will  get  tight ;  the  habit  galls, 
So  you're  retired  —  laid  away. 
Yet  you've  faced  powder,  blithe  and  gay, 
The  "awful  charge,"  the  trumpet's  bray  ; 

You've  known  the  hum  of  whirling  balls, 
Vet' ran  dress-coat. 

Our  fight  is  done.      In  deadly  fray 
We  seized  her  heart.      Though  heroes  lay 
Within  the  breach,  we  stormed  the  walls, 
And  hung  our  banners  in  those  halls  ; 
By  conquering  "arms  "  we  won  the  day, 
Vet' ran  dress-coat  ! 
38 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

"POOR    CUPID    FROZE    HIS   WINGS 
ONE   DAY" 

POOR  Cupid  froze  his  wings  one  day, 
When  winds  were  cold  and  skies  were  gray, 

And  clouds  with  snow  were  laden. 
A  little  maid  was  passing  by  ; 
She  caught  the  rogue,  —  he  could  not  fly, — 

Oh  naughty  little  maiden  ! 

She  sent  him  off  with  sharpen'  d  dart, 
To  steal  for  her  a  certain  heart ; 

But,  oh  the  mishap  stupid  ! 
Since  Cupid's  blind,  and  cannot  see, 
He  went  astray,  and  came  to  me. 

Oh  naughty  little  Cupid  ! 

So  that  is  why  my  heart  is  gone, 
And  I  am  dreary  and  forlorn, 

With  tears  my  eyes  are  laden. 
She  does  not  want  my  heart  —  ah  no  ! 
I  did  not  wish  to  have  it  go ; 

Oh  Cupid,  and  oh  maiden  ! 

GERTRUDE    JONES. 

39 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

BOCCHERINPS   MINUET 

Our  upon  the  night  air  steals  the  music,  soft  and 

low, 
Trembling  like  a  wind-swayed  leaflet  swinging 

to  and  fro  ; 

Ah,  the  whispered  moaning, 
Ah,  the  soft  intoning, 
Ah,  the  dancers,  buried  long  ago  ! 

Louder  grows  the  music  now,  and  now  a  flick 
ering  glow 
Shines  upon  the  ghostly  dancers,  moving  there 

below ; 

Ah,  the  courtly  graces, 
Ah,  the  eager  faces, 
Of  the  dancers,  buried  long  ago  ! 

How  the  jewels  glisten, 
Diamonds,  lustre-robbing ! 

How  the  spectres  listen 
To  the  music,  sobbing  ! 

O'er    the    waxen    floor    the    bowing    shadows 
slowly  go ; 

4° 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Then  they  vanish  quickly,   as  the  north  wind 
drives  the  snow ; 

Was  it  only  seeming  ? 

Was  I  only  dreaming 
Of  the  dancers,  buried  long  ago  ? 

G.    A.    COPELAND. 


IN   THE  JIM    VALLEY 

THEY'RE  harvestin*  the  wheat-fields  in  the  valley 

of  the  Jim ; 
I  can  hear  the  reapers  clatter,  soundin'  kind  of 

low  and  dim, 
See  the  yello'  fields  a-wavin',  an*  the  shocks  in 

crooked  rows, 
An'  the  house  an'  barn,  an'  mother  out  hangin' 

up  the  clo'se  ; 
See  the  cattle  and  the  pastur',  an'  the  ol'  gray 

limpin*  mule, 
An'    the    yello'    heifer    standin*    in    the    water 

keepin'  cool  ; 

An'  I  try  to  fight  agin*  it  as  a  sort  of  silly  whim, 
But  I  wisht  'at  I  was  back  there  in  the  valley 

of  the  Jim. 

41 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

Now   it's    fall  ;  an*   they're  a  thrashin'   an'   a 

ploughin*  up  the  ground  ; 
An'   the  air  is  sort  of  hazy,  an*   the  gulls  are 

sailin'  'round  ; 
An*  the  sun  looks  kind  of  yello'   in  the  smoky 

afternoon  ; 
An'  at  evenin'  you  can  listen  to  the  thunder's 

sleepy  tune, 
See  the  horses  comin'    home   from   work,    an' 

smell  their  sweaty  coats, 
Hear  'em  smashin*   through  the  stubble,   tired 

an'  hungry  for  their  oats. 
Now  it's  growing  sort  of  dusky,   an'   they're 

doin'  up  the  chores, 
An'   the  kitchen  fire  is  burnin',  an'  it's  chilly 

out-o' -doors  :  — 
I  can  smell  the  eggs  an'  coffee,  an'  I  know  my 

little  trim, 
Lovin*  mother's  gettin'  supper  in  the  valley  by 

the  Jim. 

Onc't  I  had  a  older  brother  in  the  valley  of  the 

Jim; 
An'   he  was  a  homely   feller,  an*  I   ust   to  go 

with  him 

42 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

To  the  pastur'  for  the  cattle,  an'  a-fishin',  an* 
around  ; 

An'  I  mind  he  ust  to  carry  me  acrost  the  stubble 
ground, 

An'  we'd  often  sit  a-fishin',  on  a  summer  after 
noon, 

By  the  creek,  an'  hear  the  gophers  chirp,  an* 
listen  to  the  tune 

Of  the  bob-o-link  an'  black-bird  —  oh  I  recol 
lect  it  well  ; 

An'  we  liked  the  sleepy  water,  an'  the  kind  of 
fishy  smell 

Of  the  old  dry  bank,  with  craw-fish  bones  an' 
clam-shells  layin'  there  ; 

An'  we'd  hear  the  dreary  singin'  of  the  plover 
in  the  air. 

An'  then  one  day  in   fall   they  buried  him  on 
father's  hill  ; 

'N  I  cried  all  day,  an'  wished  'at  I  was  laid 
along  of  Bill  ; 

Per  it  seemed  so  queer  an'  lonesome  'thout  no 
brother  any  more  ;  — 

An'  now  the  grass  is  dyiu'    there,    an'   winds 
are  sighin'  o'er;  — 


43 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

I  can  hear  the  sor'ful  meado'  lark  a-singin'  over 

him. — 
O.  I  wisht  'at  I  was  back  there  in  the  valley  of 

the  Jim. 

WILL    DILLMAN. 

* 


COLIN'S   CALL 

OH  !  who  will  be  my  true  love 
And  put  her  hand  in  mine  ? 

Oh  !  who  will  to  the  alleyed  grove 
And  garlands  gay  entwine  ? 

For  her  who'll  be  my  true  love 
The  fairest  flowers  I'll  find  ; 

The  loveliest  posies  in  the  grove 
For  her  shall  all  be  twined. 

Oh  !  who'll  be  my  true  love 
And  wander  forth  with  me 

To  where  the  clouds  float  soft  above, 
The  primrose  dots  the  lea  ? 

For  her  who'll  be  my  true  love 
The  skies  will  aye  be  blue, 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

The  meadows  always  green  prove, 
My  heart  be  ever  true. 

F.   T.   W. 


WITH  JENNY   IN   THE    RAIN 

As  sad  I  was  as  any, 

With  all  a  lover's  pain, 
Till  I  walked  that  day  with  Jenny  — 

With  Jenny  in  the  rain ! 
Past  fresh' ning  fields  of  clover 

And  sweet  with  ripening  grain, 
And  blossoms  blowing  over, 

With  Jenny  in  the  rain ! 

The  silken  shade  above  her  — 

The  violets  at  her  feet ; 
The  raindrops  seemed  to  love  her, 

And  fell  in  music  sweet. 
And  O,  the  south  wind  blowing 

In  many  a  glad  refrain, 
When  love  and  I  were  going 

With  Jenny  in  the  rain. 

Each  breeze  that  rippled  past  her 
Stole  kisses  on  the  way  ; 
45 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

The  rain  fell  never  faster 

Than  beat  my  heart  that  day  ! 

And  O,  the  fields  of  clover, 
And  O,  the  golden  grain  ! 

For  love  came  home  —  the  rover  ! 
With  Jenny,  in  the  rain  ! 

FRANK    L.    STAMON. 


TO   A    GIRL   ON    A    GREEK    FRIEZE 

How  often  have  I  gazed  into  thy  face, 

And  wished  those  lips  could  pulse  again  with 

red, 
Those  eyes  could  answer  mine,  thy  feet  could 

tread 

The  choral  dance  anew  with  old-time  grace, 
Thy  rounded   arms,   which  now  entwine  that 

vase, 

And  poise  it  high  above  that  perfect  head, 
Could  clasp  me  in  their  new-found  warmth  in 
stead, 

Thy  heart  could  join  with  mine  in  sweet  em 
brace. 

Ah,  then  we'd  leave  the  noisy,  smoky  town, 
46 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

And  through  the  fragrant  meadows  haste  away 
And    whispering   woods,    to   some    fair   sleepy 

glade, 
Where    fairies  weave    the    flowers   in  many   a 

crown, 
Where  all  is  rest  and  mirth,  where  wood-nymphs 

play, 
And  Pan  still  pipes  beneath  the  friendly  shade. 

ASHLEY    HORACE    THORNDIKE. 


TO    A    FRIEND    IN   LOVE 

IN  Arcady  !     I  envy  you. 

Arcadian  hillsides  never  knew 
A  more  bewitching  shepherdess 
To  take  an  humble  swain's  caress  ; 

Ne'er  thrilled  a  shepherd  heart  more  true. 

Has  not  each  flower  a  magic  hue  ? 
Has  not  the  sky  a  richer  blue  ? 

Is  not  life  sweet  —  come,  now  confess, 
In  Arcady  ? 
47 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

One  time  I  dwelt  where  now  you  do, 

Old  friend  ;  —  but  loves  that  last  are  few  — 

Now  since  I  know  your  happiness, 

I'll  try  my  luck  again,  I  guess, 
For  I  should  like  to  be  there,  too, 
In  Arcady. 

LOUIS   JONES    MAGEE. 


MY    PIPE 

Two  years  old,  this  little  fellow, 
Yet  he's  strong  and  sweet  and  mellow. 
Yesterday,  to-day,  to-morrow, 
Always  sharing  joy  and  sorrow, 
Sacking  by  me  like  a  brother, 
Soothing  far  more  than  a  mother. 

Two  years  old,  and  yet  quite  ripe 
My  little  bulldog,  brier  pipe. 

Yes,  he  goes  to  church  on  Sunday 
(Oftentimes  to  worse  on  Monday)  ; 
Then,  of  course,  he's  under  cover, 
Yet  this  patient  little  lover, 
48 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Grumbling,  hateful  ways  disdaining, 
Ne'er  was  known  to  be  complaining. 

Two  years  old,  yet  strong  and  ripe  — 
My  little  bulldog,  brier  pipe. 

Over  there  at  Charlie's  soaking, 

Round  a  social  table  smoking, 

Pouring  over  analytics, 

Talking  football  with  the  critics, 

Making  love  to  German  lasses, 

Walking  'midst  the  crowded  masses, 
He  is  with  me  strong  and  ripe, 
My  little  bulldog,  brier  pipe. 

Cheer  and  comfort  always  lending 

With  his  curling  smoke  ascending  ; 

Never  cold  and  apathetic, 

Always  warm  and  sympathetic, 

He  and  I  are  single-hearted, 

He  and  I  have  never  parted. 

Yes,  I  love  this  strong,  this  ripe, 
This  little  bulldog,  brier  pipe. 

F.    S.    CAMP. 


49 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

RING-DOVES   AND   ROSES 

O  YOUTH  and  Love  and  plighted  faith, 
They  laugh  to  scorn  the  thoughts  of  death 

With  merry  quips  and  dulces  ; 
While  memories  of  eyes  of  brown 
And  lids  Maid  Modesty  kissed  down, 

Beat  softly  in  the  pulses. 

And  ob  !  and  aye  ! 

As  Time  Jlies  by, 

The  sweetest  chords  may  twang  awryt 

And  song  oft  sinks  to  sobbing. 

But  roses  die  in  cheeks  so  fair, 

White  age  steals  lightly  through  the  hair, 

The  scorn  of  youth  defying. 
And  compliment  is  out  of  tune, 
And  through  the  balmy  bowers  of  June 

The  Autumn  winds  go  sighing. 

And  ob  !  and  aye  ! 

But  Youth  fits  by, 

I  catch  the  echo  of  a  sigh 

Within  my  heart  low  throbbing. 

CHAUNCEY    WETMORE    WELLS. 
5° 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

OH,  FOR  THE  STORM-SCARRED 
HEADLANDS 

OH,  for  the  storm-scarred  headlands, 

The  hoarse,  unresting  seas, 
The  shifting  mist  and  sunshine, 

The  cool,  soft  eastern  breeze  ! 

Oh,  to  trace  the  low  pine  woodlands, 

Or  walk  the  windy  shore, 
Or  feel  the  muscle  tighten 

Against  the  straining  oar  ! 

Sweeter  than  harp  or  sackbut 

To  weary  ear  and  brain, 
The  lapwing's  low,  wild  whistle, 

The  sea-gull's  angry  skane. 

Better  than  books  or  study 

On  gorse-grown  cliffs  to  lie, 
And  watch  the  cloud-wrack  slowly 

Climb  up  the  summer  sky. 

Oh,  for  the  blackened  headlands, 
The  hoarse,  tumultuous  seas, 

The  trailing  mists  and  shadows, 
The  strong,  salt  eastern  breeze. 

A.     M.     LORD. 
5' 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

AT  SWEET  SIXTEEN 

AT  sweet  sixteen,  with  roseate  hue 
The  blushing  morn  comes  into  view, 
And  kisses  with  surpassing  grace 
The  beauty  of  a  maiden's  face. 
O  blushing  morn,  would  I  were  you  ! 

The  maiden  smiles,  with  love-light  true. 
Oh,  would  that  love  were  entre  nous, 
And  in  her  heart  I  had  a  place, 
At  sweet  sixteen. 

If  she  but  felt,  if  she  but  knew, 
The  love  which  thus  her  beauty  drew, 
Then,  smiling  o'er  her  happy  face, 
I'd  never  leave  the  morn  a  place 
To  touch  those  lips,  where  Cupid  flew, 
At  sweet  sixteen. 

N.     H.    PITMAN. 


APRIL 

APRIL,  a  lovely  little  maid  thou  art, 

Thyself  so  trustful  and  so  pure  in  heart, 

Thine  hair  of  gold  for  dancing  sunbeams  meet, 
Thine  eyes  of  blue  and  face  so  dainty  sweet 
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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Alas,  thine  eyes  are  often  filled  with  tears 
At  eve,  to  gently  sob  thyself  to  sleep, 

Next  morn  to  wake,  a  happy  child  that  clears 
Away  all  cares  and  sorrows,  howe'er  deep. 

Around    thy    head,    a    wreath    of    mayflowers 

twined, 
White    and    sweet    pink,    thine  own   cheeks 

rivalling, 

Breathing  new  hope  and  life  in  balmy  wind 
Thou  comest,  cheerful  daughter  of  the  spring. 

Thou  bringest  joy  and  peace  to  all  mankind, 
And  all  our  hearts  in  love  to  thee  dost  bind. 

JAMES    DAWES    WILLIAMS. 


A    HUMBLE    ROMANCE 

HER  ways  were  rather  frightened,  and  she  wasn't 
much  to  see, 

She  wasn't  good  at  small  talk  or  quick  at  rep 
artee, 

Her  gown  was  somewhat  lacking  in  the  proper 
cut  and  tone, 

53 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

And  it  wasn't  difficult  to  see  she'd  made  it  all 

alone. 
So  the  gay  young  men  whose  notice  would  have 

filled  her  with  delight 
Paid  very  small  attention   to   the   little   girl   in 

white. 

He  couldn't  talk  the  theatre,  for  he  hadn't  rime 

to  go, 
And,  though  he  knew  that   hay  was  high  and 

butter  rather  low, 
He  couldn't  say  the  airy  things  that  other  men 

rehearse, 
While  his  waltzing  was  so  rusty  that  he  didn't 

dare  reverse. 
The  beauties  whom  he  sighed  for  were    most 

frigidly  polite, 
So  perforce  he  came  and  sat  beside  the  little 

girl  in  white. 

She  soon  forgot  her  envy  of  the  glittering  beau 
monde, 

For  their  common  love  of  horses  proved  a  sym 
pathetic  bond. 

She  told  him  all  about  the  farm,  and  how  she 
came  to  town, 

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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

And  showed  the  honest  little  heart  beneath  the 

home-made  gown. 
A  humble  tale,  you  say, —  and  yet  he  blesses 

now  the  night 
When  first  he  came  and  sat  beside  the  little  girl 

in  white. 

JULIET    WILBUR    TOMPKINS. 


IF   I    BUT   KNEW 

IF  I  but  knew  what  the  tree- tops  say, 

Whispering  secrets  night  and  day; 
If  I  but  knew  what  the  birds  on  high 
So  sweetly  warble  beneath  Love's  sky, 
I'd  make  a  song 

For  you 

To  sing  throughout  your  whole  life  long  — 
If  I  but  knew. 

If  I  but  knew  how  the  lilies  brew 

Nectar  rare  from  a  drop  of  dew; 
If  I  but  knew  what  in  trellised  bowers 
The  night-winds  tell  to  listening  flowers, 
I'd  make  a  song 
For  you, 
55 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

And  speak  of  days  when  Love  was  strong 
If  I  but  knew. 


If  I  but  knew  what  brook  and  river 

Murmur  softly,  murmur  ever  ; 
If  I  but  knew  a  tuneful  word, 

Sweet  as  the  note  of  a  wooing  bird, 
That  word  I'd  sing 

To  you, 

An  answer  from  your  lips  to  bring  — 
If  I  but  knew. 


DIE   WEINSTUBE 

THE  coziest  nook 

That  good  friends  know 
Is  the  little  old  room  at  the  end  of  the  hall, 

Wherever  you  look 

The  maxims  show, 

And  there  in  a  row, 

Good  comrades  all, 
Hang  seven  old  tankards  on  the  wall. 
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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

A  good  man  laughs 

In  a  jovial  way, 
Knows  never  the  strength  of  sorrowful  thrall, 

And  vows  as  he  quaffs 

That  a  king  might  pay 

To  dream  one  day 

Where  the  shadows  fall 
Of  life  and  love  and  dear  friends  all. 

Sympathy,  cheer, 

And  a  lyrical  song 
And  that  is  the  way  content  is  found. 

Hopes  that  are  dear, 

Hearts  that  are  strong, 

Cares  that  belong 

Under  the  ground, 
And  that  is  the  way  the  world  goes  round. 

Old  friends  who  hear 
Have  never  a  moan 
For  dear  days  perished  and  buried  all ; 
Youth's  young  cheer 
Comes  following  on, 
So  we  take  down 
When  the  dead  leaves  fall, 
57 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

Take  down  for  youth  and  dear  friends  all, 
The  seven  old  tankards  on  the  wall. 


ROBERT  L.    MUNCER. 


DOROTHY 

IN  happy  rimes  and  merry  whiles 
This  song  might  garland  o'er  with  smiles 
The  new-born  love  that  cradled  lies 
Within  thine  eyes  : 

When  far-off  wedding  bells  a-cbime 
Are  touched  with  magic  wand, 

And  life  is  at  the  crescent  time. 
And  all  is  fairyland, 

Then  Song  and  Echo  in  my  rhyme 
Go  straying  band  in  band. 

But  if  thy  heart  is  turned  from  me, 
Then  empty  is  my  heart  for  thee, 
And  this  sad  lay  is  wandering  through  : 

When  lilting  love-songs  lose  their  grace, 
And  jealousies  arise, 
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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

And  steals  a  mist  across  the  face, 

Where  love  a-gazing  lies, 
O  then  are  sobs  in  Echo's  voice, 

And  tears  within  her  eyes. 

CHAUNCEY  WETMORE  WELLS. 


FAIRYLAND 

Sith  none  that  breatheth  living  aire  does  know 
Where  is  that  happie  land  of  Faerie.  —  Spenser. 

FAIRYLAND,  oh,  Fairyland  ! 
Show  us  the  road  to  Fairyland. 
We  are  weary  of  work  and  woe, 
Along  our  pathway  the  briers  grow, 
And  high  is  the  hedge  on  either  hand, 
Far  have  we  fared  from  the  Fairyland. 

Fairyland,  oh,  Fairyland  ! 
Show  us  the  road  to  Fairyland. 

Fairyland,  oh,  Fairyland! 
Lost  is  the  road  to  Fairyland  ; 
Across  the  storied  years  it  winds, 
Through  human  hearts  and  human  minds. 

59 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

None  liveth  now  who  may  understand 
The  mystic  magic  of  Fairyland. 
Fairyland,  oh,  Fairyland  ! 
Lost  is  the  road  to  Fairyland. 

Fairyland,  oh,  Fairyland  ! 
Who  will  win  back  to  Fairyland  ? 
He  who  dwells  in  the  yesterdays 
May  find  the  path  o'er  "  ferny  braes," 
May  meet  the  queen  of  the  elfin  band, 
And  come  to  the  long-lost  Fairyland. 

Fairyland,  oh,  Fairyland  ! 
Who  will  win  back  to  Fairyland  ? 

MARY  HOLLANDS  MCLEAN. 


TRIOLET 

SHE  wears  a  rose  upon  her  breast ; 

My  heart  is  folded  in  the  leaves. 
By  fine  and  filmy  lace  caressed 
She  wears  a  rose  upon  her  breast, 
And  little  dreams  how  fair  a  nest 

For  my  poor  heart  each  petal  weaves. 
She  wears  a  rose  upon  her  breast ; 

My  heart  is  folded  in  the  leaves. 
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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

IN   THE   DARK 

HAVE  you  ever  been  a-vvalking  on  the  grim  old 

hills  at  night, 
When    the  stars  go    twinkle-twinkle,    and    the 

moon  is  not  in  sight, 
And  the  big  trees  in   the  forest  seem  to  keep 

out  all  the  light  ? 

You  hear  a  noise  behind  you,  and  you  start,  you 

don't  know  why, 
And  somethin'  in  the  darkness  seems  to  moan 

and  pass  you  by, 
And  the  blackness,  gettin'  blacker,  shuts  you  off 

from  all  the  sky. 

Our  ancestors  were  foolish  to  believe  in  spright 

or  fay, 
Or  in  ghosts   that  love  the  darkest  night  and 

always  shun  the  day, 
And  that  spirits  of  the  dead  still  walk  in  their 

mysterious  way. 
Yet,  though  it's  kind  o'  childish,  I  sometimes 

feel  as  though 

61 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

They   weren't   so   wrong   as   we    believe,    and 

maybe  here  below 
There's  more  around  us  in  the  dark  than  any  of 

us  know. 

JAMES    BISSETT    PRATT. 


CHIVALRY 

FROM  out  the  deep  and  soulless  gloom, 
That  his  own  hand  could  scarce  relume, 
A  voice  was  heard,  as  from  a  tomb,  — 
"For  God  and  her  !  " 

And  straightway  in  that  darksome  time, 
The  kloster  bells  began  to  chime 
In  sweet,  rare  tones  of  song  sublime, — 
"For  God  and  her  !" 

Athwart  the  gloom  bright  arms  flashed  light, 
While  on  the  lance  he  bore,  each  knight 
Inscribed  these  magic  words  of  might, — 
"For  God  and  her!" 

Then  ghastly  shadows  fled  away, 
And  through  the  darkness  stole  the  gray 
Of  hope's  fair  morning,  and  the  day 
For  God  and  her. 
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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

And  when  at  last  within  its  tomb 
The  knight  had  swept  the  lingering  gloom, 
Achilles-like,  he  faced  his  doom, 
For  God  and  her. 

The  knight  is  gone  ;  but  yet  we  see 
Within  best  manhood,  beating  free, 
The  ancient  heart  of  Chivalry,  — 
"For  God  and  her!" 

T.     W.     BUCHANAN. 


TWILIGHT   SONG 

SWEETHEART,  night  is  falling, 

Falling 

Soft  o'er  land  and  sea, 
And  my  love  is  calling, 

Calling 
Through  the  night  to  thee. 

Fairy  fire-lights  gleaming, 

Gleaming, 
Dancing  merrily, 
Heed  me  not  a-dreaming, 

Dreaming 

Dearest  heart  of  thee. 
63 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

But  the  shadows  playing, 

Playing, 

Seek  to  comfort  me, 
And  afar  go  straying, 

Straying, 
Through  the  night  to  thee  ; 

Till  about  thee  bending, 

Bending, 

Tell  with  kisses  light 
That  to  thee  I'm  sending, 

Sending 
All  my  love  to-night. 


THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY 

As  one  who,  coming  from  a  darkened  place 
Into  full  daylight,  dazzled  by  the  glare, 
Sees  nothing  of  the  beauty  that  is  there, 
But  only  lurid  spots  that  whirl  and  race  ; 
And  stands  a  moment  with  bewildered  face 
Till-  the  mists  vanish,  and  the  landscape  fair 
Appears  in  all  its  glorious  splendor  rare 
Where  sun  and  wavering  shadow  interlace  ; 
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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

So  we  from  ignorance,  into  the  day 

Of  knowledge  coming  suddenly,  assailed 

By   the   fierce   light   of  new-found   truth,  have 

failed 

To  see  the  glory  that  before  us  lay. 
But  presently  the  mists  will  clear  away, 
And,    wondering,    we    shall    see     God's    face, 

unveiled. 

HARRY  RUTGERS  CONGER. 


MABEL 

WHEN  Mabel,  in  the  springtime, 
Leans  on  the  garden  gate, 

The  blossoms  come  to  meet  her  - 
The  roses  dare  not  wait. 

When  Mabel,  in  the  summer, 
Stands  in  the  grassy  lane, 

The  daisies  nod  about  her  — 
Bees  follow  in  her  train. 

When  Mabel,  in  the  autumn, 
Walks  on  the  windy  street, 

The  blushing  leaves  attend  her, 
And  chase  her  hurrying  feet. 
65 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

When  Mabel,  in  the  winter, 

Rides  in  the  merry  air, 
The  snowflakes  crowd  to  kiss  her, 

And  loiter  in  her  hair. 

While  I,  in  all  the  seasons, 
Join  the  constant  chase  — 

In  turn,  as  flower  or  snowflake, 
Pursuing  one  fair  face! 


THE   GLEE   CLUB  CONCERT 

i 

THE  club  sings  to-night  — 
Are  they  nervous,  I  wonder, 

Hoping  all  will  go  right 

When  the  club  sings  to-night  ? 

God  save  the  poor  wight 

Who  by  chance  makes  a  blunder! 

The  club  sings  to-night  — 
Are  they  nervous,  I  wonder  ? 


My  heart  sings  to-night, 

For  to-night  I  will  meet  her. 
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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Oh,  the  world  is  all  bright, 
And  my  heart  sings  to-night. 
The  club  is  all  right, 

But  I  think  my  song  sweeter, 
For  my  heart  sings,  "To-night, 

Oh,  to-night,  I  will  meet  her!  " 

m 

The  world  sings  to-night, 
Though  the  concert  is  over, 

Oh,  my  heart  is  light! 

The  whole  world  sings  to-night. 

She  has  said  that  I  might 
For  eternity  love  her, 

And  the  world  sings  to-night, 
Though  the  concert  is  over. 

JAMES    WEBER    LINN. 


FREE   LANCES 

A-RIDING,    a-riding   i*     the    growing    morning 

light! 
The    bugles    blow,   and   all    a-row    our   lances 

glitter  bright. 

6? 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

Along  the  winding  river,  beside  the  beached  sea, 
By    lonely    tower,    or    high-walled    town,    or 

heathy  wastes  of  lea  ; 
Where'er    we    go,    whate'er    good    cause    our 

strong  right  arms  may  claim, 
God  guide  us,  merry  gentlemen,  and  keep  our 

swords  from  shame. 

We   squire  to  no  lady's  whims,  we  serve  nor 

church  nor  lords, 
But  worship  upon  God's  green  hills,  and  love 

our  own  bright  swords. 
Let  friars  pray,  and  striplings  love,  and  courtiers 

bend  the  knee, 
While  blood  is  hot  and  muscle  firm,  our  hearts 

and  hands  are  free. 

A-riding,  a-riding,  —  the  east  is  all  aflame  : 
God  guide  us,  merry  gentlemen,  and  keep  our 

swords  from  shame. 

AUGUSTUS    M.    LORD. 


A   RONDEAU 

CLARISSA  laughs.      I  plead  in  vain  ; 
She  hears  my  suit  with  sweet  disdain. 
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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

When  I  remind  her  —  speaking  low  — 
That  once  she  did  not  flout  me  so, 
She  asks  me  —  do  I  think  'twill  rain. 
Then  when  in  anger  I  am  fain 
To  leave  her,  swear  I've  naught  to  gain 
By  staying,  save  th'  increase  of  woe, 
Clarissa  laughs. 

Yet  when  I  beg  of  her  to  deign 

To  answer,  give  it  joy  or  pain, 

She  smiles.     So  then  I  cannot  go, 

For  with  her  smiles  my  love  doth  grow. 

Yet  when  I  press  my  suit  again, 

Clarissa  laughs. 

RUTH    PARSONS    MILNE 


A   MISUNDERSTANDING 

CAME  the  West  Wind,  careless  rover, 
Came  and  lightly  kissed  the  rose. 

No  one  knows, 

No  one  knows  the  whole  world  over, 
Why  she  turned  her  head  away  ; 
69 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

Turned,  his  coming  would  not  greet, 
When  the  West  Wind  kissed  her  sweet. 

Then  the  West  Wind,  reckless  lover, 
Lightly,  lightly  shook  the  rose. 

No  one  knows 
How,  dismayed,  he  sighed  above  her  ; 

For  her  petals,  one  by  one, 
Fell,  down-dropping  strewn  they  lay  ; 
Then  the  West  Wind  stole  away. 

s.  c.   w. 


LOVE'S   ORIGIN 

MIDST  the  deepening    shades   of  night,  infant 

night,  • 

Look  above,  look  above  ! 
While    the   leaf  a   love-lay    breathes    from    its 

height ; 
While    the   shadows   hide   the    dross   and    the 

blight ; 

All  is  love.     All  is  love  ! 
List  the  chant  of  distant  bells  on  the  air, 
Up  above,  up  above  ! 
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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Through  the  honey  of  the  dew,  O  so  fair  ! 
Through  the  depth  of  silent  thought,   ah  !    up 
there 

All  is  love.     All  is  love  ! 
Melting  music  from  afar  on  the  ears, 

God  above,  God  above  ! 
Lulls    to    sleep    the    rolling    years,    anguished 

years, 
All  the  pain  and  bitter  strife,  inward  tears, 

For  all  is  love.     All  is  love  ! 

ARTHUR    D.     CALL. 


THE   CROCUSES 

HIGH  in  the  night  hung  the  moon,  so  cold, 
Bending  down  to  the  earth,  so  old, 
With  her  finger-tips  on  her  icy  lips, 
Hiding  her  face  in  a  cloud  eclipse, 
Silently  touched  the  crocus  cups, 
The  shivering  crocus  cups. 

Back  shrank  the  spirit  of  Spring,  so  chilled  ; 
Eyes  with  the  tears  of  a  hurt  so  filled  ; 
71 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

But  pitiful  Night,  with  a  coverlet  white, 
Crooning  a  lullaby,  tucked  out  of  sight 
The  quivering  crocus  cups. 

Deep  in  the  crocus  heart,  so  still, 
Slumbered  the  soul  of  Spring,  until 
Through  the  tears  and  sighs  of  April  skies 
The  sun  dropped  a  kiss  on  the  wide,  sweet  eyes 
Smiling  up  from  the  crocus  cups, 
The  trembling  crocus  cups. 

MARY    HEFFERAN. 


POLLY,    MY   SWEETHEART 

O,  POLLY,  my  sweetheart,  so  tender  and  true, 
Alone  in  the  gloaming  I'm  thinking  of  you, 
And  Polly,  my  sweetheart,  my  heart  says  to  me, 
Wherever  she  is,  she  is  thinking  of  thec  ! 

O,  Polly,  my  sweetheart,  so  tender  and  true, 
How  long  are  the  days  till  I'm  married  to  you, 
And,  Polly,  my  sweetheart,  my  heart  says  to 

me, 

The  days  are  as  long,  too,  for  her  as  for  thee. 
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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

O,  Polly,  my  sweetheart,  so  tender  and  true, 
I'll  laugh  at  the  king  when  I'm  married  to  you, 
And,   Polly,  my  sweetheart,  my  heart  says  to 

me, 
She'll  blush  like  the  rose  as  she  listens  to  thee. 

O,  Polly,  my  sweetheart,  the  dark    day  must 

come 
When  fond  eyes  are  darkened  and  dear  lips  are 

dumb, 

But,  Polly,  my  sweetheart,  my  heart  says  to  me, 
Wherever  the  one  is  the  other  shall  be  ! 

s.   A.  JONES. 


SONG 

TO-DAY'S  to-day,  and  what's  to-morrow  ? 

Here's  a  tankard  unto  sorrow. 

The  past  is  dead,  and  who  will  borrow 

Care  from  what  is  yet  to  come  ? 
We  have  journeyed  o'er  the  stubble, 
Arm  in  arm  with  sad-eyed  trouble, 
Care  will  vanish  as  this  bubble. 

Sing  the  louder  ;  are  you  dumb  ? 
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In  this  wine  there  lurks  a  fairy, 
See,  she  bids  you  all  be  merry  ! 
Drink  a  goblet  of  this  sherry, 

Pledge  with  us  again  a  toast ! 
Seize  the  moment  e'er  it  passes, 
Drink  the  wine  up,  drain  the  glasses, 
Drink  a  health  to  all  the  lasses, 

Pledge  the  girl  you  love  the  most. 


If  the  one  that  you  adore  is 

Graced  with  all  her  wondrous  glories, 

Be  she  Bess  or  dark  Dolores, 

You're  the  one  to  know  it  best. 
And  if  other  names  incite  you, 
Here's  to  her  who  may  delight  you, 
If  in  doubt  this  cup  will  right  you, 

Pledge  the  one  you  last  caressed  ! 

In  this  draught  you'll  find  a  treasure, 
Just  but  see  its  golden  measure  ! 
I  will  warrant  there's  no  pleasure 
Such  as  lurks  within  this  glass  ! 
Let  the  outer  world  abuse  us, 
If  they  drank  of  this  they'd  choose  us, 
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But  in  hollow  love  they  lose  us 
Till  their  dusty  lives  do  pass. 

EUGENE    RICHARD    WHITE. 


MY   OLD    GUITAR 

BY  some  eastern  river  thy  rosewood  grew, 
Thy  inlaid  pearl  in  the  restless  sea ; 

What  craftsman  moulded  thy  bosom  fair, 
Sounding  with  dreamy  melody  ? 

What  maiden's  fingers  have  swept  thy  strings, 
In  the  distant  vistas  of  long  ago  ? 

What  love-lorn  gallant  has  sung  his  lay 
To  thy  tuneful  cadence  sweet  and  low  ? 

What  odors  of  romance  round  thee  cling, 
As  each  chord  swells  in  thy  bosom  deep  .? 

Whispering  long-forgotten  loves, 
Trilling  the  soul  to  rest  and  sleep. 

Oh,  Muse,  who  dwells  in  the  hollow  shrine 
Of  my  old  guitar  with  its  tales  of  yore, 

Grant  me  the  power  to  wake  thy  strains 
In  music  sweeter  than  e'er  before. 

F.    G.    HINSDALE. 

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With  Pipe  and  Book 

JOCK  AND  JENNY 

OH,  Jock  and  Jenny,  they  went  to  the  fair  ; 
So  gay  and  so  charming  was  never  a  pair, 
No  lad  was  so  bold  and  no  lassie  so  sweet,  — 
And  the  piper  played  faster  to  follow  their  feet. 
Trip  it  high  ! 
Trip  it  low  ! 

Join  bands  and  curtsey,  then  off"  with  a  swing, 
And  follow  your  partner  around  in  the  ring  ; 
Now  fast ! 
Now  slow  ! 
So  long  as  the  sun  shines  this  bright  summer 

day. 
We*  II  trip  it  and  skip  it,  so  blithe  and  so  gay. 

Said  Jock,  "I've  but  threepence  ;  'twill  be  but 

a  bite, 

The  parritch  we'll  sup  on  thegither  the  night." 
Said  Jenny,  "  'Twill  do  for  a  bit  o'  a  treat ; 
Let's  laugh  and  be  merry,  —  there's  nae  need 

to  greet. 

"  There's  ane  for  a  token  ;  we'll  break  it  in 

twa, 

And  swear  to  be  leal  till  the  last  day  o'  a'  ; 
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And  ane  for  a  ribband  to  twist  in  my  hair, 
And   there's  ane   for  the  piper  and  there's  — 
naething  mair." 

Said  Jock,  "I'll  not  hunger  ;  I  have  na  a  fear, 
For  I'll  feed  on  the  smiles  o*  your  mouth,  Jenny 

dear  ; 

As  for  drinkin',  the  glent  o'  your  bonnie  brown  ee 
Is  makin*  me  toisie,  as  'twere  barley-bree." 

Then  Jenny  looked  up  with  a  roguish  surprise, 
And  whispered,  "  Sure,  Jock,  ye  are  tellin*  me 

lies  ; 

But  whilst  ye  are  dinin'  sae  dainty  and  well 
I'll  be  wantin*  a  bit  o'  a  sweetie  mysel  V 

Oh,  Jock  and  Jenny,  they  went  to  the  fair, 
So  gay  and  so  charming  was  never  a  pair, 
No  lad  was  so  bold  and  no  lassie  so  sweet,  — 
Going  home  in   the    moonlight  thro*   acres  of 
wheat. 

LOUIS    PACKARD    GILLESPIE. 


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THE   FIRST  SNOWSTORM 
A  CHILD'S  POEM 

LITTLE  Miss  Snowflake,  dressed  in  white, 
Came  down  the  dusty  road  one  night. 
Her  dress  was  as  white  as  a  piece  of  chalk, 
And  she  pranced  around,  but  did  not  walk  ; 
For  she  was  going  to  a  ball  that  night, 
And  that  was  the  reason  she  dressed  in  white. 
There  were  fifty  thousand,  and  many  more,  too, 
And  they  looked  like  the  children  that  lived  in 

the  shoe. 

They  had  for  music,  that  happy  night, 
A  little  brook  that  sang  about  flight  ; 
They  had  for  chorus  the  rustling  leaves 
That  came  from  the  top  of  the  tallest  trees. 

EMILY    EUGENIA    MORRIS. 


UPON  HER   MANDOLIN 

THE  roses  climb  and  cluster 
On  Margery's  lattice  tall  ; 

Aloft,  with  lucent  lustre, 
Stars  gem  the  heaven /y  hall  ; 
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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Soft  cadences  are  straying 

Where  silence  late  hath  been : 

'Tis  bonny  Margery  playing 
Upon  her  mandolin. 


The  crickets  cease  their  trilling 

Amid  the  grassy  aisles  ; 
Charmed  by  the  music  thrilling, 

The  drooping  jasmine  smiles  ; 
The  mocking-bird,  delaying, 

Forgets  his  silvery  din, 
And  lists  to  Margery's  playing 

Upon  her  mandolin. 

In  envy,  'neath  her  bower, 

Whose  blossoms  scent  the  gale, 
Her  lover  sees  a  flower 

The  slender  lattice  scale  ; 
I  ween  there  is  no  saying 

What  he'd  not  dare,  to  win 
The  brown-eyed  Margery  playing 

Upon  her  mandolin. 

CLINTON    SCOLLARD. 


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SUPPOSE 

A  SOFT  cloud  is  drifting  away  in  the  night,  — 
Drifting  away  in  the  pale  starlight ; 
With  the  gentle  moon  to  shine  on  me, 
And  the  glimmer  of  stars  for  company, 
Wrapped  in  the  downy  folds  to  lie, 
With  the  night-wind  to  kiss  me  a  soft  lullaby, 
Answer  me,  is  there  sweeter  bliss 
Than  this  ? 

But  what  if  the  storm-winds  should  arise, 
As  I  drift  with  the  cloud  thro*  the  starlit  skies ; 
And  the  moon  should  hide  and  the  stars  go  in, 
And  with  tear-drops  big  should  the  rain  begin, 
I  cannot  but  think  that  I  might  weep  too, 
As  my  soft  downy  quilt  to  a  wet  sheet  grew ; 
And  I  might  be  dropped  in  a  big  thorn  tree. 
Ah  me! 


THE  SONG   OF  THE  JOLLY   FAT 
FRIAR 

A  JOLLY  fat  friar  once  lived  in  a  dell ; 
He  told  oft  his  beads,  and  he  toll'd  oft  his  bell ; 
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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Though  he  didn't  fear  heaven,  he  wouldn't  fear 

hell, 
For  he  liked  Billy  Satan  a  trifle  too  well. 

CHORUS  : 

Ob!     'Twas    ding!     dong!     ding!     dong! 

gluckety!  gluckety!  gluck! 
He  pulled  at  the  bell,  a  good  pull  and  strong, 
Then  pulled  at  the  flagon  for  luck, 
Witb  a  gluckety  !  gluckety  !  gluck  ! 

This  jolly  fat  friar  threw  over  his  care, 
With  merry  good  fellows  and  jolly  good  fun. 
He  learned  from  the  wine-cup  a  new-fashioned 

prayer, 
And  morning  and  evening  he'd  over  it  run. 

CHORUS  : 

Witb  a  ding!  dong!  etc. 

It  'gan  with  the  famous  old  Latin  word  "  hoc," 
And  rambled  along  o'er  the  saints  of  his  stock, 
Till  the  flagon  grew   thin   and  his  mutterings 

grew  thick, 

When  it  ended  itself  with  an  infamous  "hie!" 
CHORUS  : 

Ob  !  '  (was  ding  !  dong  !  etc. 

CLAY   ARTHUR    PIERCE. 

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A    VALENTINE 

I'M  penning  you  a  greeting 

This  sweet  confession -time 
With  Cupid  gently  beating 

The  music  of  its  rhyme. 
Pray  list  to  my  entreating, 

Pray  read  this  pleading  line, 
For  I  in  song  so  deeply  long 

To  be  your  Valentine. 

My  page  will  soon  be  bearing 

This  message  Love  has  framed, 
And  eager  hopes  preparing 

To  share  what  it  has  claimed  ; 
Let,  dear,  your  heart  be  daring, 

Give  Cupid  but  a  sign 
That  he  may  say  for  this  one  day 

I  am  your  Valentine. 

My  page  will  whisper  sweeter 
Confessions  than  I  write  ; 

His  cunning  wings  are  fleeter 
Than  flash  of  morning  light. 
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Forth,  Cupid,  then,  and  greet  her, 
Breathe  magic  words  of  thine, 

And  backward  fly,  and  say  that  I 
May  be  her  Valentine. 

S.    T.    LIVINGSTON. 


WHEN  LOVE   WAS   BORN 

WHEN   Love    was    born,    he    found    all   nature 

drear ; 

The  silent  birds  knew  naught  of  friendly  cheer, 
And    forest    trees    were    bare.      The    sweet 

breath' d  pine 
Gasped    on    the    earth.      But    nature    'came 

divine 

When  Cupid  dropped  from  God  with  winged 
spear. 

Each  star,  till  then  fast  fixed  in  its  sphere, 
Sped  through  the  shady  blue  like  startled  deer, 
And  knelt  adoring  at  some  planet's  shrine, 
When  Love  was  born. 

The  birds  built  nests,  rejoicing  far  and  near  ; 
The  air  was  music  with  their  glad  career ; 
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With  Pipe  and  Book 

Light  zephyrs  kissed  the  joining  tree  and  vine  : 
For  God  gave  to  the  world  this  Valentine, 
And  bade  the  sun-clouds  drop  a  joyous  tear, 
When  Love  was  born. 

NORMAN    HUTCHINSON. 


MY   LADY   NICOTINE 

REALMED  in  the  dreams  of  Fancy, 

Crowned  with  the  pearl  of  smoke, 
From  the  lost  land  of  necromancy 

My  lady  of  old  I  invoke 
My  lady  of  Nicotina, 

As  gay  as  the  laughter  of  dreams, 
As  subtle  as  purring  waters, 

As  fair  as  the  woodland  streams. 

Crowned  in  moments  of  pleasure, 

A  friend  in  time  of  fear, 
Lake  the  sway  of  a  love-caught  measure, 

She  speaks  her  word  in  my  ear, 
Until  in  moments  of  longing 

She  banishes  doubt  and  regret, 
And  I  touch  her  lips  uplifted 

With  the  wand  of  my  cigarette. 
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You  awake  from  the  dreams  of  Hashan, 

There  is  doubt  in  your  castles  of  Spain, 
Love  lurks  in  eyes  Caucasian 

To  leave  them  again  and  again ; 
Yet  soft  at  the  hint  of  my  bidding, 

There  floats  on  my  vision  a  queen 
Who  lurks  in  dreams  and  fancies, 

My  lady  of  Nicotine. 


THE   NIGHT-WIND'S   SONG 

THE  night-wind  sings  ever  of  thee,  sweetheart, 

Tenderly  low ; 
The  night-wind  bears  its  song  to  me,  sweetheart, 

Through  moonbeams'  glow. 
And  the  night- wind's  song  and  mine  are  one, 
And  together  of  thee  we  sing,  my  own, 

We  love  thee  so. 

The    night-wind    has    drunk    of    thine    eyes, 
sweetheart, 

And  kissed  thy  hair. 

The    night-wind     thy     every     glance     espies, 
sweetheart, 

Thy  joys  doth  share. 
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With  Pipe  and  Book 

And  ever  it  brings  a  breath  of  thee 
That  fills  my  soul  with  ecstasy, 
Oh,  sweetheart  fair. 

HARRY  C.    PORTER. 


LULLABY 

DREAMILY,  dreamily,  swinging,  swaying, 
Blow  as  the  blossoms  blow,  — 

Babekyn  rocks  in  a  faery  cradle, 
Now  high,  now  low. 

Babekyn  rocks  in  faery  cradle, 

Hung  from  the  white  moon's  horn, 

Pillowed  on  clinging,  shimmering  fleeces, 
From  bright  clouds  shorn. 

Merrily,  gleefully,  tossing,  rocking, 

Sunshine  on  every  side, — 
Appleblows  daintiest,  sweetest,  palest, 

His  Majesty  hide. 

Gleefully,  daintily,  swinging,  swaying, 
Blossoms  blow  light  in  the  wind  ; 

Dawn-tinted  petals  fall  thickly,  till  Baby 
Is  hard  to  find. 

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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Wearily,  wearily,  rocking,  swaying, 

Even  the  robins  rest ; 
When  the  sun  is  dead  and  the  blossoms  shiver 

Long  dreams  are  best. 

EMILY  S.    JOHNSON. 


WHERE   LOVE   DWELLS 

CANST  thou  tell  me  where  love  dwells  ? 
Is  it  in  the  tender  bells 

Of  the  wakening  flowers  at  morn  ? 
Is  it  in  the  starry  skies, 
Ever  twinkling  lullabies 

To  the  spirits  sorrow-worn  ? 

Canst  thou  tell  me  where  love  sleeps  ? 
Is  it  in  the  mystic  deeps 

Of  poet's  fondest  fancy? 
Poesy!  the  echo  long 
Of  thy  minstrelsy  and  song 

Dies  as  a  music  on  the  sea. 

Where,  then,  tell  me,  dost  love  rest  ? 
It  is  in  the  heart  that  best 
Bears  its  sorrow  love  is  born. 
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With  Pipe  and  Book 

In  gentle  Faith  —  there  love  abides 
Whispering  that  naught  besides 
Holds  the  spirits  sorrow-worn. 

LEWIS    L.    BRASTOW. 


IMMER   MEHR 

IT  was  just  a  sweet  song  that  she  sang, 
A  mystic  and  wonderful  song  ; 

Through  the  halls  of  my  being  it  rang, 
And  echoed  so  clear  and  so  strong 
That  I  cried,  "  This  is  more  than  a  song." 

It  was  only  a  word  that  she  spoke, — 

A  tender  and  beautiful  word  ; 
Yet  the  voice  of  my  passion  it  woke, 

As  dawn  wakes  the  voice  of  a  bird. 

And  I  said,  "  This  is  more  than  a  word." 

It  was  only  a  clasp  of  the  hand, 

And  a  glance  from  two  lovely  dark  eyes 

That  timidly,  dreamfully  scanned 
My  own,  seeking  love  to  disguise, 
But  I  saw  there  was  love  in  her  eyes. 
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And  the  love  half-concealed  in  her  eyes 
Met  the  love  that  was  restless  in  mine, 

And  her  blushes  were  sudden  to  rise 
As  the  tongue  of  the  flame  by  a  shrine. 
Then  I  whispered,  "  I  know  she  is  mine." 

THOMAS    POTTER    SANBORN. 


MY   HOUNDS 

WHEN  'neath  my  window's  bar  my  good  hounds 

growl, 

And  through  the  darkness  frantic  rushes  make 
At  unseen  foes,  until  the  echoes  wake 
And  lift  their  voices  up  in  answering  howl ; 
Then  do  I  scorn  the  terrors  of  the  dark, 
And  laugh  aloud,  and  cry  out  in  delight, 
"No  danger  need  I  tremble  at  to-night  — 
My  good  hounds  bark." 

But  when    no    deep-toned    baying    breaks    the 

hush, 

When  all  the  silent  night  my  ears  I  strain 

To  hear  their  watchful  muttering,  in  vain, 

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With  Pipe  and  Book 

And  the  ground  quakes  not  with  their  sudden 

rush, 

Then  shadowy  forms  my  chamber  seem  to  fill, 
And  stealthy  footsteps  on  the  stair  I  hear  ; 
My  heart  leaps,   quivering   with  a  nameless 
fear  — 

My  hounds  are  still. 

JULIET    WILBUR    TOMPKINS. 


SONG   OF   RETURN 

COME,  love,  come  where  lilies  blow, 

For  the  long  grass  waves  in  the  sun, 
And   the   wind    is    kissing    the   dew   from    the 
flowers 

One  by  one. 

Oh  come  where  wandering  rivers  find 
Their  home  in  the  heart  of  the  sea, 
And  I'll  tell  thee  how  this  vagrant  heart 
Hies  back  to  thee. 

Come  o'er  the  hills  to  the  Sunset  Gate, 
When  crimson  couriers  run 
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To  tell  in  the  land  of  the  Evening  Queen 
That  Day  is  done. 

Oh  come  to  the  glimmering  lake's  brown  marge, 

Where  the  waters  soon  will  be 

At  rest  with  the  holy  vesper  hour ; 

So  I  with  thee. 

Come  out  in  the  silent  night,  my  love, 

Oh  come  to  me  ! 
For  I  am  here  beneath  the  stars, 

Returned  to  thee, 
And  thou  art  mine,  I  thine  for  all 

Eternity  ! 

A.     S.     C. 


PROM.   ROSES 

ONLY  a  bunch  of  roses  fair, 
A  cluster  of  pink  and  white, 

Roses  that  nod  to  the  music  low, 
The  flowers  she  wore  that  night. 

She  tenderly  lifts  each  drooping  head 
That  gracefully  tosses  there, 

And  the  dainty  flowers,  nestling  close, 
Smile  back  at  the  maiden  fair. 

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"How  beautiful  they  are,"  she  said, 
As  she  pressed  them  to  her  cheek, 

"  Why,  the  opened  petals  almost  seem 
As  if  they  were  trying  to  speak." 

I  wonder  why  she  cannot  hear 
The  song  that  the  flowers  sing, 

I  wonder  if  she  knows  or  cares 
For  the  message  the  roses  bring. 

JAMES    P.    SAWYER. 


LOST   LOVE 

IN  my  heart  a  silent  chamber, 

No  one  dwells  there,  no  one  enters. 

From  the  walls  the  busy  spiders  drop  and  spin 

their  webs  of  gauze, 
Watch  and  weave  in  vain  endeavor, 
Weak  and  dying,  fall  forever, 
While  the  gray  dust  sifts  and  settles,  all  along 

the  barren  floors. 

Once  it  was  the  scene  of  splendor, 
Light  and  gladness,  joy  and  glory, 
There  my  princess  dwelt  in  beauty,  never  seen 
on  earth  before  ; 
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And  the  candles  by  the  fire 
Leaped  and  quivered  with  desire. 
Joy  that  she  should  look  upon  them,  longed  to 
feel  her  presence  more. 

By  the  ancient  carven  portal 

Hangs  the  key  now  rusted,  broken, 

And    across    the    bare,  garret  windows   stretch 

the  curtains,  old  and  thin  ; 
Time  has  dimmed  them,  moths  have  eaten, 
Winter  storms  have  tossed  and  beaten. 
In   my  chamber,    silence,    darkness ;    sunshine 

never  enters  in. 


THE   STAR   OF   BETHLEHEM 

ONE  star  from  all  eternity  has  hung, 

The  porch-light  of  God's  house,  to  be  a  guide 
To  weary  angels,  speeding  to  his  side 

From  ministry  on  earth  ;  and  shines  among 

The  lesser  lights  with  glory  that  has  sprung 
From  nearness  to  his  presence,  and  the  wide 
White  gates  of  Heaven, where  the  hosts  abide 

Who  chant  his  praise  with  undented  tongue. 
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But  once,  when  wise  men  journeyed  from  afar 
With  gifts  of  gold  and  incense  in  their  hands, 

God  left  the  portals  dark,  and  sent  his  star 
To  guide  their  footsteps  over  desert  sands, 

To  where,  in  stable,  as  the  oxen  are, 

A    little    child    lay    wrapped    in    swaddling 
bands. 

ELIZABETH    KEMPER    ADAMS. 


DREAM   SONG 

AT  eventide,  at  eventide, 

When  the  golden  sun  drops  into  the  sea, 
Then  over  the  waters,  deep  and  wide, 

The  little  dreams  wander  so  gleefully. 
Some  come  on  rafts,  and  some  in  boats, 
Or  anything  else  that  sails  and  floats! 

They  moor  their  ships,  they  moor  their  ships, 

Just  as  the  stars  begin  to  peep, 
And  silently  each  little  dreamling  slips 

Through  the  nursery  windows,  where  children 

sleep. 

And  they  sit  on  the  children's  pillows  all  night 
Telling  them  stories  till  broad  daylight! 
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They  tell  such  tales,  they  tell  such  tales, 
Of  gardens  as  fair  as  the  Paradise  ! 

Of  mermaids  and  nixies,  —  and  giant  whales 
That  live  far  north,  midst  the  snow  and  ice, — 

Or  of  countries  where  always  'tis  Saturday, 

And  children  do  nothing  else  but  play  ! 

But  when  dawn  draws  nigh,  when  dawn  draws 
nigh, 

The  dreams  flit  back  to  their  boats  again, 
And  the  stars,  one  by  one,  drop  out  of  the  sky, 

And  the  moon's  bright  lamp  begins  to  wane. 
Then  they  sail  to  the  land  of  the  rising  sun 
To  wait  there  and  play,  till  day  is  done. 

GERTRUDE    CRAVEN. 


WHERE   CUPID   DWELLS 

WAY  over  the  seas,  in  a  far,  far  land, 

Where  skies  are  blue  and  gold ; 
Where  ripples  break  on  a  silver  sand, 

And  sunbeams  ne'er  grow  old  ; 
There's  a  dale  where  Cupid  dwells,  they  say, 
And  'tis  there  that  he  rests  from  his  frolic  play. 
95 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

Oh,  there's  many  a  lass  and  many  a  swain 

That  knows  of  his  shafts  made  there  ; 
For  Cupid  spares  naught  of  a  deep  heart- pain, 

Though  love  be  all  his  care. 
And  I  think  he  should  make  a  reflection  or  two, 
When  he  rests  over  there  from  his  play.     Don't 
you  ? 

ROBERT    L.     MUNCER. 


WOODLAND   WHISPERS 

O  GROVES  of  my  own  dear  home-land 

Wrapped  in  tender  twilight  shades, 
My  soul  goes  out  in  longing 

For  your  dim  and  sheltered  glades, 
With  their  sweet  familiar  murmurs 

Which  I  still  in  fancy  hear 
Like  a  strain  of  distant  music, 

Falling  soft  upon  my  ear. 

O  dells  of  my  boyhood  roamings 
Glamoured  with  the  spell  of  youth, 

'Midst  your  soft  and  hallowed  gloamings 
Every  fancy  seemed  a  truth, 
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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

And  the  pure  untainted  fragrance 
Breathed  from  out  the  forest  aisles 

Seems  to  haunt  me  in  my  vagrance 
Through  the  weary  waste  of  miles. 

Ye  dear  and  hallowed  echoes, 

With  your  wistful,  sad  refrain, 
Ye  breathe  through  all  my  spirit, 

Till  I  scarce  can  quell  the  pain 
Of  the  longing  for  the  dear  days 

That  have  fled  into  the  gloom, 
With  the  dusky,  tangled  byways 

And  the  woodland's  sweet  perfume. 

R.    P.    COOKE. 


SONG   OF  THE   SEA   FLIGHT 

SING  ho!  sing  ho!  for  the  sailing,  O! 

For  the  salt,  salt  surge  and  the  winds  that  blow! 

And  the  foam  that's  flung  from  the  rail,  bent  low 

O'er  the  roaring  sea! 

Sing  ho!  then,  loud,  for  the  rattling  shroud, 
The  whistling  gale,  and  the  scudding  cloud, 
And  the  gay  gull  soaring  on  pinions  proud 

So  far  and  free! 
97 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

Sing  ho  for  the  scars  that  bloom  at  night! 
For  the  streaming  wake,  soft-sown  with  light! 
And  the  face  that   shines  in  the  moon's   mist 
white 

Near,  near,  and  sweet! 
For  the  tale  oft-told  that  will  ne'er  grow  old, 
The  shy,  sweet  glance,  and  the  hand-clasp  bold, 
And  the  mad,  wild  music  that  young  hearts  hold 

When  warm  lips  meet! 

Then  ho  for  the  salt  sea's  breath  divine! 
It  thrills  the  blood  like  the  rage  of  wine 
As,  borne  by  long  billows  that  shake  and  shine, 

We  lose  the  lea! 

Unsullied  the  breezes  sing  and  sweep ; 
Forgot  are  dull  shoreward  hours  that  creep ; 
With  joy  past  naming  our  pulses  leap 

Far  out  at  sea! 

W.    C.    H. 


A   MAY  SONG 

HEYDEY!  for  the  maids  of  May! 

Love  alone  is  the  game  to  play! 

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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Turn  on  me  your  girlish  glances, 
Every  look  my  love  enhances, 
Every  smile  my  heart  entrances, 
Oh,  May,  I  pray  but  stay! 

Heydey!  for  the  maids  of  May! 

Laughing,  loving,  blithe  and  gay! 
Laugh  and  part  your  lips  in  singing, 
Let  my  heart  with  echoes  ringing, 
Haste  the  hours  upon  their  winging, 

Oh,  May,  but  stay,  I  pray! 

Heydey !  for  the  maids  of  May ! 

Love  and  life  have  come  to  stay! 
Still,  alas!  whilst  I  am  singing, 
List  how  Cupid's  bow  is  ringing, 
See  how  deep  his  darts  are  stinging, 

Oh,  May,  I  pray,  away! 

CHARLES  SUMNER   PIKE. 


JACQUEMINOT 

ARE  you  filled  with  wonder,  Jacqueminot, 
Do  you  think  me  mad  that  I  kiss  you  so  ? 
If  a  rose  could  one  of  its  thoughts  express, 
I'd  find  you  mocking,  I  more  than  guess ; 

99 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

And  yet  if  you  vow  me  a  fond  old  fool, 
Just  think  if  your  own  sweet  pulst  was  cool 
When  you  lay  in  her  tresses  an  hour  ago, 
Jacqueminot. 

This  pale,  proud  girl,  you  must  understand, 

Held  all  my  fate  in  her  small  white  hand, 

And  when  I  asked  her  to  be  my  bride, 

She  wanted  a  day  to  think, —  decide  ; 

And  I  asked  her,  if  her  answer  were  no,  she'd 

wear 

A  Marshal  Niel  to  the  ball  in  her  hair, 
But  if  'twere  yes,  she  should  tell  me  so 
By  a  Jacqueminot 

My  heart  found  heaven  ;   I  had  seen  my  sign, 
And  after  the  dance  I  knew  her  mine. 
And  I  plucked  you  out  of  her  warm,  soft  hair, 
As  her  stately  pride  stood  trembling  there, 
And  I  felt  in  the  dark  for  her  lips  to  kiss, 
And  I  pressed  them  close  to  my  own  like  this, 
And  I  held  her  cheek  to  my  own  cheek  —  so, 
Jacqueminot. 

FREDERIC    LAWRENCE   KNOWLES. 


IOO 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

SONG 

THE  dawn  is  where  thou  art, 

(My  own  sweetheart!} 
In  thee  all  songs  and  voices  blend 
In  one  sweet  singing  without  end. 

The  stars  are  like  thine  eyes  ; 

(/ff  them  love  lies!') 
In  their  far  depths  I  seem  to  see 
Bright  visions  of  eternity. 

Dawn  and  the  stars  depart, 
(Not  thou,  sweetheart!} 
But  from  my  soul  the  dream  of  May 
And  thee,  can  never  fade  away! 

I 

HENRY    HUNTER    WELSH. 


LETTING   DOWN  THE   BARS 

i 
TWILIGHT  falls  from  out  the  sky, 

And  the  moor-hen,  sad  and  lone, 
Sobs  aloft  her  dismal  cry 
As  I  drive  the  cattle  home. 
101 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

O'er  the  moor  her  voice  is  calling, 
Sweet  inflections,  rising,  falling, 

'  Neath  the  promise  of  the  stars, 
And  'twixt  moor  and  meadow  lands, 
By  the  rustic  gateway  stands 

Jessie,  letting  down  the  bars. 


Fairy  fancies  faintly  fall 

In  the  chambers  of  my  brain, 
And  I  seem  to  hear  her  call 

O'er  the  woodland  hills  again. 
Through  the  noise,  the  toil,  the  strife, 
All  the  cares  of  busy  life ; 

Through  the  prizes  and  the  scars, 
In  my  dreams  I  seem  to  see, 
With  her  brown  hair  floating  free, 

Jessie,  letting  down  the  bars. 


Jessie  kissed  the  Prince  of  Death, 
And  he  bade  her  silent  lie ; 

But  the  sound  of  memory's  breath 
In  my  heart  can  never  die! 
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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

When  I  bring  my  flock  of  years, 
Gilded  hopes  and  faded  fears, 

To  the  city  in  the  stars, 
I  shall  see  my  darling  wait, 
I  shall  see,  within  the  gate, 

Jessie,  letting  down  the  bars. 

ARTHUR    HOBSON    QUINN. 


FAYRE   LADYE    LALAGE 

BELOWE  her  Ruffe  twinne  Rosebuddes  showe,  - 
My  Gifte  to  her  ;  —  in  Accents  lowe 

She  blushed  and  rendered  Thankes  to  mee 
With  such  sweete  Grace  and  Courtesie 
Y*  in  my  Hearte,  Hope's  Flower  doth  blowe. 

Yn  wille  I  presse  my  Suit,  altho' 
I  maye  not  guesse  her  Fancy's  flowe 

Ye  Buddes  nodde  "  Courage,"  certainlie, 
Belowe  her  Ruffe. 

Y*  wanton,  wooing  Breezes  blowe 
Her  warme,  darke  Tresses  to  and  fro, 
And  kisse  her  little  Lippes ;  —  Ah,  she 
103 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

Will  let  me  kisse  them,  it  may  bee  :  — 
Y*  merrie  Bloomes,  theye  don't  save  "  No," 
Belowe  her  Ruffe. 

THOMAS    PORTER    SANDORN. 


TO   A   SPRAY   OF   VIOLETS 

VIOLETS  blooming  beside  the  road, 

Like  fallen  pieces  of  yonder  sky, 
Pray  tell  me  who  trespassed  in  your  abode, 

And  gathered  your  blossoms  in  passing  by  ? 

When  I  saw   you,   your   heads  were   a-droop 
with  shame, 

And  your  petals  were  closed  for  jealousy, 
As  I  whispered  to  you  when  first  you  came, 

The  name  of  a  maiden  dear  to  me. 

But  baptized,  you  repent  of  that  sinful  mood, 
As  you  lean  from  my  vase  you  are  wondrous  fair, 

And  with  all  the  grace  of  your  native  wood 
You  give  me  the  smile  that  she  gave  you  there. 

ROBERT    PRIESTLEY    HAYES. 
I04 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 
IN   CAP   AND    BELLS 

IN  cap  and  bells  the  jester  sung 

At  court  of  king,  and  gayly  flung 
His  sparkling  jests  at  high  and  low, 
And  made  the  merry  laughter  flow 

While  yet  our  toiling  world  was  young. 

But  now,  ah  !  now,  the  songs  that  sprung 
From  lips  of  old,  and  blithely  rung, 
Are  heard  no  more  as  long  ago 
In  cap  and  bells. 

Yet  should  I  bring,  who  long  have  hung 
O'er  mirthful  tales  of  those  who  clung 
To  motly,  but  the  faintest  glow 
Of  their  swift-flashing  wit,  I  know 
Not  all  in  vain  my  lyre  is  strung 

In  cap  and  bells. 

CLINTON    SCOLLARD. 


105 


With  Pipe  and  Book 
NOW   AND   THEN 


O  THE  days,  and  O  the  dances 
Of  that  olden, 
Golden 

Time. 

Swords  and  lances, 
Tender  glances, 

Love  and  laughter,  war  and  rhyme 
Made  the  wide  world  all  romances, 
Life  a  song,  a  wedding  chime  ! 


Ho,  sad  Sir,  I  match  the  present 

With  your  dusty, 

Rusty 

Time  ! 

Knight  and  peasant, 
Cross  and  crescent, 

These  have  passed,  but  life's  old  chime 
Brings  the  same,  now  sad,  now  pleasant  — 
Tears,  love,  laughter,  joy  and  crime  ! 

1 06 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 
IN    MODERN   TIMES 

WEEPING,  there  came  to  Venus,  where  she  sat 
'Mid  fairy  bowers,  within  her  Cyprian  seat, 

Her  rosy  son,  Cupid,  the  archer  boy, 

And  flung  his  sheath  of  arrows  at  her  feet. 

For  many  years,  upon  love's  mischief  bent, 
He'd  roamed  at  will,  and  sent  his  well-aimed 
darts  ; 

But  now  some  evil  god  had  charmed  mankind, 
For  lo,  his  arrows  failed  to  pierce  their  hearts. 

Then  Venus  comforted  and  soothed  him  ;  called 
For  clever  Vulcan,  and  his  sorrows  told. 

And  Vulcan,  smiling,  gathered  up  the  shafts, 
And  tipped  each  little  fairy  point  with  gold. 

Now  Cupid,  glad  again,  goes  thro'  the  land 
Upon  love's  mischief  bent,  with   bow   and 

dart  ; 

And  where  his  arrows  once  could  not  avail, 
Now,  tipped  with  gold,  they  pierce  the  hard 
est  heart. 

107 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

HELIOTROPE 

HELIOTROPE  of  gracile  mien, 
You  that  ever  sunward  lean 

In  the  morning's  gleam  and  glow, 

Or  when  weary  toilers  go 
Homeward  'twixt  the  hedgerows  green, 

Prithee,  tell  me,  have  you  seen 
Blithesome,  debonair  Irene, 

Heard  her  sweet  laugh  overflow, 

Heliotrope  ? 

Answer,  you  whose  eyes  are  keen, 
Did  she,  like  a  timid  queen, 

Bend  to  you  and  murmur  low 

Secrets  that  I  long  to  know, 
By  this  rose-tree's  leafy  screen, 

Heliotrope  ? 

CLINTON    SCOLLARD. 


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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

I   DREAM    OF  THEE 

AH,  love, 

When  the  fleeting  shadows  rove 
O'er  the  summer  hills  with  the  breeze  at  play, 
And  the  cricket  shrills  in  the  grasses  high, 
And  the  rainbow  wings  of  the  dragon-fly 
Weave  their  fairy  rings  where  the  tall  flags  sway, 
I  dream,  my  love,  of  thee. 

Ah,  love, 

When  the  round  moon  sails  above, 
And  the  plaintive  note  of  the  whip-poor-will 
Greets  my  gliding  boat,  and  the  elfin  light 
Of  the  glowworm's  torch  sheds  its  lustre  white 
On  my  dewy  march,  and  the  night  grows  still, 
I  dream,  my  love,  of  thee. 

CARL    CHAPEAU. 


SWORD    SONG 

A  SOLDIER  of  Fortune  I, 
The  whole  wide  world's  my  home. 
109 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

I  own  for  master  no  lordly  king, 
But  astride  my  gray  with  a  glove  to  fling, 
And  my  good  brown  blade  with  bitter  sting 
O'er  many  broad  lands  I  roam. 
No  fair  dame's  colors  I  wear, 
No  bright  eyes  flash  for  me  ; 
My  mistress  is  keen  and  hard  and  cold, 
But  truer  than  women  and  truer  than  gold  ; 
In  the  clang  of  fighting  she's  free  and  bold, 
My  sword's  my  love! 

The  rattle  of  dice  is  sweet, 
And  a  rollicking  song  brings  cheer, 
But  the  grinding  ring  of  blade  on  blade, 
When  thrust  is  turned  with  stiff  parade, 
When  the  game  of  death  is  bravely  played, 
Falls  sweetest  on  my  ear. 
You  may  talk  of  pouting  lips, 
Or  the  ruby  of  rare  old  wine, 
But  when  mad  and  hot  the  battle  fares, 
When  he  who  wins  is  he  who  dares, 
Then  bright' s  the  red  robe  my  mistress  wears 
My  sword!     My  love! 

Oh,  we  lead  a  careless  life, 
This  brave  old  blade  and  I. 
I  10 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

With  swagger  and  swing  thro'  the  world  we' 11  ride, 
And  we'll  hold  together  whate'er  betide, 
And  when  all  is  done  she'll  rest  at  my  side 
As  cold  and  stark  I  lie. 
Now  here's  to  a  steady  wrist, 
And  a  thrust  that's  always  true, 
And  a  blade  that  does  never  a  danger  shun, 
That  is  never  sheathed  till  the  work  is  done, 
Till  the  fight  is  over  and  victory  won  — 
My  sword!     My  love! 

HARRY    K.     WEBSTER. 


WHEN   THE   TIDE   IS    LOW 

THE  waves  reach  lovingly  out  to  the  sands, 

When  the  tide  is  low  ; 
Gentle  the  touch  of  their  tremulous  hands 

As  they  restlessly  ebb  and  flow. 
Full  many  a  shell  whose  rainbow  hue 

Is  softened  and  toned  by  the  ocean's  blue, 
Do  they  bring  to  the  wanderer's  raptured  view, 

When  the  tide  is  low. 

And  the  old,  old  mem'ries  they  beckon  to  me, 
When  the  tide  is  low, 
in 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

As  my  bark  glides  over  the  evening  sea, 
And  the  winds  of  the  haven  blow  ; 

But  one  sweet,   fond  voice  from  the  clust'ring 

throng, 
Unvexed,  unmoved  by  my  sin  and  wrong, 

Calls  back  to  me  like  an  angel's  song, 
When  the  tide  of  life  is  low. 

ELLSWORTH    LEONARD. 


SERENADE 

SLEEP  thou,  mine  own,  while  perfumed  sighs 
Of  night  winds  whisper  lullabies, 
While  Nature's  tears  in  dew-drops  fall, 
And  darkness  dim  envelopes  all. 

Sleep  thou,  mine  own,  while  rippling  streams 
Murmur  sweet  music  in  thy  dreams, 
Soft  melodies  of  cadence  rare, 
Which  faint  and  die  upon  the  air. 

Sleep  thou,  mine  own,  while  on  the  wings 
Of  Love  is  borne  the  song  of  strings 
.£olian.      Laying  at  thy  shrine 
My  heart  of  hearts,  forever  thine. 

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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Then  sleep,  mine  own,  till  sunny  day 
Kisses  thine  eyelids,  with  a  ray 
From  rosy-fingered  goddess,  Morn, 
Whose  beauty  can  but  thine  adorn. 

THEODORE    HINMAN    SIMMONS. 


THE    BALLADE    OF   A    KISS 

HAIR  like  a  mist  in  the  sun, 

Eyes  like  the  blue  of  the  sky, 
Mouth  like  a  rosebud  half  blown, 

Curved  for  a  laugh  or  a  sigh  — 
Pouting,  yet  peeping  to  spy, 

If  the  fate-bearing  daisy  told  true  ; 
As  I  stood  there,  demurely,  I  —  why, 

I  kissed  her,  of  course, — wouldn't  you? 

That  new  waltz  of  Strauss'  had  begun,  — 

That  waltz  throbbing  hard  like  a  cry 
Wrought  of  pleasure  and  pain  all  in  one,  — 

And  the  dancers  went  lazily  by, 
As  she  gave  me  the  daisy  to  try 

Whether  Cupid  said  anything  new  ; 
Then  she  sighed  —  oh,  so  softly,  —  and  —  why, 

I  kissed  her,  of  course,  — wouldn't  you  ? 
"3 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

Just  a  kiss  —  what's  the  harm  that  was  done  ? 

Not  a  soul  in  the  garden  was  nigh, 
And,  you  know,  what  is  found  out  by  none 

Never  happened  —  none  need  to  deny. 
Just  a  kiss  snatched  from  lips  that  were  shy 

As  the  blush  that  across  her  cheek  flew, 
And  the  red  of  the  rose  would  out-vie  — 

I  kissed  her,  of  course,  — wouldn't  you? 

L*  envoi! 
Pretty  maid,  now  my  ballade  is  done, 

You  ask,  what's  the  moral  to  you  ? 
I  haste  to  reply  there  is  none  — 

But  —  I  kissed  her  —  of  course  —  wouldn't 
you  ? 

A.    B.    HOUGHTON. 


MY    QUEST 

OVER  the  meadow  and  over  the  hill, 

Over  the  heath  and  heather, 
I  seek  for  the  spot  where  the  dawn-wind  sleeps, 

And  slips  from  its  night-bound  tether. 
"4 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Is  it  here  ?     Is  it  there  ? 

Pray  tell  me  where 
The  morning  zephyrs  tarry, 

That  I  may  find 

Where  they  crouch  and  hide, 
And  sip  of  the  dew  they  carry. 

Over  the  billow  and  over  the  wave, 

Over  the  vales  and  valleys, 
I  seek  for  the  spot  where  the  night-wind  dreams, 
And  rest  from  its  twilight  rallies. 

Is  it  here  ?     Is  it  there  ? 

Pray  tell  me  where 
The  breath  of  night  lies  sleeping, 

That  I  may  rest 

In  its  downy  nest, 
With  its  breath  my  eyelids  steeping. 


AT   THE   SEA 

SING  to  me,  Anemone! 
At  the  breaking  of  the  sea, 
At  the  sighing  of  the  deep, 
Sing  me  into  endless  sleep! 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

I  am  weary,  very  weary, 
Lonely  is  the  land  and  dreary, 
When  the  waves  break  o'er  the  lea, 
Sing  to  me,  Anemone! 

—  Dreamily,  so  dreamily ! 

When  the  breakers  rise  and  fall, 
When  the  wild  sea-voices  call, 
When  the  sky  is  dark  and  chill, 
When  the  sea-bird's  cry  is  still, 
When  the  cold  north  wind  is  blowing 
Over  ocean's  icy  flowing, 
Spirit  voices  call  to  me  ; 
Sing  to  me,  Anemone! 

—  Drowsily,  so  drowsily! 

Sing  a  song  of  wilder  kind 
To  the  whistling  of  the  wind! 
Cold  I  lie  upon  the  sand, 
Cold  the  waves  lap  on  the  strand. 
I  am  weary,  oh!   so  weary, 
Lonely  is  the  land  and  dreary, 
Lay  me,  dying,  by  the  sea! 
Sing  to  me,  Anemone! 

—  Sleepily,  so  sleepily! 

HENRY  HUNTER   WELSH. 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 
CHRISTMAS    MORNING 

WITH  flare  of  trumpet  and  roll  of  drum 

Tho*  never  a  stick  have  we, 

And  never  a  horn  save  a  dimpled  hand  — 
A  roistering,  rollicking,  warlike  band, 

Right  valorous  soldiers  three. 

Our  line  of  march  through  the  parlor  dim, 

And  out  to  the  open  hall, 

A  step  and  a  stamp  and  a  fearless  stride  — 
And  a  paper-knife  strapped  to  each  valiant  side, 

Then  way!  we  are  heroes  all. 

Shall  it  be  a  charge  on  the  rocking-chair  ? 

Or  a  siege  of  the  balustrade  ? 

Or  a  slow,  strategical  night-attack 

On  the  castle  walls  of  the  old  hat-rack, 

Or  merely  a  dress-parade  ? 

'Tis  one  I  vow  to  the  soldiers  three, 

Polly  and  Prue  and  I, 

With  never  a  horn  save  a  dimpled  hand, 
We'll  march  all  over  this  Downstairs  Land 
117 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

Till  the  stars  peep  out  in  the  sky, 
And  the  moon  says  bed-time's  nigh. 

CHARLES    EDWARD    THOMAS. 


TWILIGHT  SONG 

BLOW,  idle  shore-wind,  low 

Over  the  lea  ; 
Flow,  languid  river,  slow 

Down  to  the  sea. 

Fly,  careless  swallow,  high 

Over  the  rill  ; 
Die,  evening  echoes,  die 

Under  the  hill. 

Stray,  drowsy  cattle,  stray 

Into  the  fold  ; 
Stay,  linger,  twilight  gray, 

Over  the  wold. 

Sleep  o'er  our  senses  creep, 

Peaceful  and  light ; 
Sweep  all  our  troubles  deep 

Into  the  night. 

ROBERT    L.    HUNGER. 
Ill 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

LATE 

WHY  doesn't  she  come  ?     The  lamps  burning 

faintly 

But  deepen  the  dark  in  the  old-fashioned  room 
Save  where  over  the  fire-place  a  face  pure  and 

saintly 

Smiles  down  its  own  light  through  the  waver 
ing  gloom. 

Her  grandmother  once  who  in  silvery  satin 
Swept   down   those   same   stairs  demure  and 

sedate, 

Shook  out  her  long  train  in  the  gleam  of  the  fire 
light, 

And  smiled,   too,  at  making  her  own  lover 
wait. 

ANNIE    NYHAN    SCRIBNER. 


YESTERDAY 

AT  dawn  a  white-sailed  vessel  touched  the  pier, 
Laden  with  gold  and  jewels  rare  for  me  ; 
119 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

All  day  she  lay  in  port,  but  in  the  clear, 
Calm  even,  with  her  gems  she  put  to  sea. 

And  mingling  with  a  fleet,  with  bitter  tears 
I  see  her  white  sails  glimmer  far  away, 

Sailing  across  the  sea  of  wasted  years, 

And  know  my  gems  are  lost  fore'er  and  aye. 

WILLIAM  H.   FIELD. 


CHEER 

WHEN  the  world's  awry,  when  the  tide  is  out, 

And  the  heart  is  dull  the  while, 
There's  naught  can  dispel  the  care  and  doubt 

Like  a  girl's  bright,  fearless  smile. 

All  the  chilling  mists  of  gloom  and  fear, 
In  a  hard  life's  storm  and  whirl, 

Will  vanish  before  the  saucy  cheer 
Of  a  sweet-faced,  laughing  girl. 

There's  new  life  in  the  air  of  her  sunny  smile, 

Parting  lips  over  lines  of  pearl, 
And  contagious  hope  in  the  dancing  eyes 

Of  a  blithesome,  laughing  girl. 
120 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Not  snowflakes  white,  as  they  mantle  down 
Soft  and  light  o'er  the  scars  of  earth, 

Can  as  gently  cover  a  vexed  heart's  frown 
As  the  spell  of  her  cheery  mirth. 

All  the  weaker  thoughts  of  a  wayward  heart 
Are  folded  away  like  a  sail  at  furl, 

Or  summoned  to  play  the  nobler  part 
By  the  smile  of  a  true,  sweet  girl. 

GEORGE    BROWNING    MCCLELLAN. 


A   SKATING   SONG 

THE  sound  of  the  bugle  over  the  hill  — 

Ho  !  lads,  ho  ! 
The  twang  of  the  bowstring,  silvery  shrill 

Across  the  waste  of  snow. 

Then  busk  ye,  all  my  merry  men, 

And  arm  ye  for  the  fight, 
There's  many  a  heart  now  whole  I  ken, 

Will  helpless  lie  this  night  — 

121 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

For  who  can  brave  a  maiden's  glance, 

Or  ward  her  dear  device  — 
What  time  the  moonbeams  are  a-dance 

Along  the  diamond  ice  ? 

The  gallant  rush  as  the  squadrons  wheel  — 

Away  !  lads,  away  ! 
The  rollicking  call  and  the  ring  of  steel  — 

Ah  !  but  the  world  is  gay. 

So,  merry  men,  lay  down  your  arms 

And  quit  a  vanquished  field, 
For  we  arc  bound  by  stronger  charms 

Than  Baron  Frost  can  wield. 
The  icy  chains  of  doughty  Jack 

Must  vanish  at  a  breath, 
But  these  fond  ties  we  wear,  alack  ! 

Shall  hold  us  to  the  death. 

Dan  Cupid's  bow  is  never  still  — 

And  like  a  bell 
Sounds  Love's  light  laughter  over  the  hill  — 

A  sweet  farewell. 

DAVID    POTTER. 
122 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

THREE   POINTS    OF   VIEW 

I  —  His  Apostrophe 

IF  my  hopes  were  as  bright 

As  your  eyes,  ma  belle, 
When  I  whispered  "  Good  night !  "  - 
If  my  hopes  were  so  bright, 
I'd  forget  prudence,  quite, 

And  the  world  —  ah,  well  ! 
If  my  hopes  were  as  bright 

As  your  eyes,  ma  belle  ! 

II  —  Her  Soliloquy 

If  he  weren't  a  dunce, 

And  a  dear,  —  ah  me  ! 
He'd  discover  at  once, 
If  he  weren't  a  dunce, 
That  I'm  not,  for  the  nonce, 

Wholly  fancy  free. 
If  he  weren't  a  dunce, 

And  a  dear,  —  ah  me  ! 
123 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

HI — Cupid's  Complaint 

What's  the  good  of  a  heart 

When  the  eyes  are  blind  ? 
Or  when  pride  takes  a  part, 
What's  the  good  of  a  heart  ? 
Tho'  I've  sent  my  last  dart, 

Not  a  wound  to  bind  ! 
What's  the  good  of  a  heart, 

When  the  eyes  are  blind  ? 

D.  v.  c. 


WHEN   STARS   COME   OUT 

WHEN  stars  come  out  o'er  land  and  sea, 

And  night  winds,  rushing  wild  and  free 

From  some  dark  billow's  snowy  crest 

To  that  bright  island  in  the  west, 

Which  now  enshrines  the  form  of  thee, 

I  would,  dear  heart,  that  I  could  be 
A  spirit  of  the  air,  and  flee 

To  thine  all  loving  arms  and  rest, 
When  stars  come  out. 
124 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Such  dreams  the  bright  stars  wing  to  me, 
Through  all  the  dim  infinity, 

From  airy  regions  of  the  blest. 

And  so,  by  thoughts  of  thee  caressed, 
I  sleep  to  dream  again  of  thee, 
When  stars  come  out. 


MY   LADY   IN   THE   GARDEN 

Our    through    the    blossoms    she's    wandering 
slowly, 

Down  in  her  pathway  the  apple-blooms  fall, 
With  scent  of  the  lilacs,  the  air  is  made  holy 

For  her  who  is  blossom  and  queen  of  them  all. 

Cover  your  heads  and  hide  in  the  grasses, 

Lilies  that  nod  so  stately  and  tall. 
She  gathers  you  up  in  her  hands  as  she  passes,  — 

They  are  whiter  than  you ;  she  is  queen  of 
you  all. 

Kneel  ye,  pink  roses ;  she's  found  out  the  treas 
ure 

125 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

Of  all  your  sweet  incense  down  here  by  the 

wall; 

Close  to  her  cheek,  if  that  be  her  pleasure, — 
It  is  pinker  than  you  ;  she  is  queen  of  you  all. 

We,  like  the  birds  in  the  maple-trees  o'er  her, 
Follow  her  footsteps,  we  come  at  her  call. 

Only  with  that  which  is  pure  we'll  adore  her, — 
She,  the  white  blossom,  the  queen  of  us  all. 

WILLIAM    BYRON    FORBUSH. 


MANOA 
"  A  fiure  citye  of  great  wealthe." 

Ho,  comrades,  seize  your  rusting  arms, 

Recall  your  old  bravado, 
And  away  to  seek  the  richest  town 

In  the  realms  of  El  Dorado. 

Its  roofs  are  covered  with  golden  tiles, 
Upraised  on  columns  golden  ; 

Of  gold  are  the  pavements  of  the  streets, 
Of  gold  the  ramparts  olden. 
126 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

There  are  golden  idols  in  golden  shrines, 

In  golden  temples  dwelling  ; 
And  the  people  heap  them  with  golden  gifts, 

In  number  past  all  telling. 

A  golden  plough,  or  a  golden  spade 
Is  the  tool  of  the  poorest  farmer ; 

And  with  golden  swords  do  its  soldiers  fight, 
Arrayed  in  golden  armor. 

But  a  golden  idol  is  weak  before 

An  honest  Spaniard's  credo ; 
And  their  weapons  of  gold  will  scarce  abide 

Our  sabres  of  Toledo. 

Then  scour  once  more  your  rusty  arms, 

Recall  your  old  bravado  ; 
We'll  sack  and  plunder  the  fairest  town 

Of  the  realms  of  El  Dorado. 

WILLIAM    HOLDEN    EDDY. 


127 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

THE   LITTLE   BLIND    BEGGAR 

AT  the  gate  of  the  World  where  the  travel  flows, 

And  the  folk  stream  by  full-tide, 
A  little  blind  Beggar  sits  in  the  sun 

And  shoots  afar  and  wide. 

He  fits  the  arrow  and  twangs  the  bow 

And  low  in  his  throat  laughs  he, 
For  well  he  knows  he  will  hit  his  mark 

Though  never  a  face  he  see. 

And  never  his  stock  of  arrows  fails, 
For  the  pain  of  the  wound  is  sweet, 

And  the  stricken  folk  bring  the  arrows  back 
To  pile  at  the  Beggar's  feet. 

And  he  fits  the  arrows  and  twangs  the  bow 

And  laughs  till  his  fingers  shake, 
For  well  he  knows  he  can  never  miss 

But  somewhere  a  heart  must  ache. 

And  they  who  are  struck,  they  keep  sail  tongue, 

But  they  carry  the  arrows  back, 
And  they  who  are  spared,  they  sound  abroad 

The  songs  of  the  pain  they  lack. 
128 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

But  still  or  singing,  and  grave  or  gay, 
Through  the  gate  of  the  World  they  go, 

And  the  little  blind  Beggar  sits  in  the  sun 
And  laughs  as  he  lays  them  low. 

J.    D.    DASKAM. 


LINES 
PRAYING  MY  LADY  BE  A  LITTLE  GIRL  AGAIN 

"  Some  day  she  will  learn  to  know 

Cbild-faitb,  as  of  old 
Learn  to  look  within,  and  so 

Find  the  gold." 

LADY,  one  who  loves  thee  sends  this  prayer, 
Knowing  thee  wise  and  good  as  thou  art  fair. 

Soul  of  the  lily,  heart  of  rose,  you  awoke 

To  find  the  world  that  seemed  so  fair,  a  cheat. 

Dream  again,  lady,  the  world's  hearts  are  of  oak, 

But  they  will  guard  thee  from  the  storm  and 

sleet  ; 

Hands  that  are  rough  and  restless  from  the  strife 
Will  win  and  keep  a  peace  about  thy  life. 
129 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

Dream  again,  lady,  turn  thy  gentle  eyes 

Aside  from  the  world's  bitterness  and  grime; 
God's  glory  reigns  above  the  hills  that  rise 
Eastward  and  westward  toward  the  walls  of 

time. 
Beauty  blesses  the  valleys ;  a  little  the  world  is 

true  ; 

And  a  kindlier  age  is  ours  than  that  which  our 
fathers  knew. 

Lady,  look  kindly  out  on  the  strife,  and  be 

To  those  who  struggle  a  hopeful  guiding  star, 
Ruling  right  queenly,  keeping  thy  heart's  heart 

free 
Till  that  heart's  master,  resistless,  comes  from 

afar. 

Listen  my  prayer,  lady  ;  be  unafraid  as  of  old, 
Frankly  challenging  life  with  a  smile.      And 

see! 

Because  tbou  art  true,  lady,  thy  servants  have 
hearts  of  gold. 


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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

SLUMBER   SONG 

SLUMBER  sweet  thine  eyelids  greet, 

Marguerite  ; 

May  the  angels  watching  o'er  thee 
Sing  their  softest  dream  songs  for  thee, 

Marguerite,  Marguerite. 
May  the  night  winds  soothing  speak, 
As  they  blow,  soft  and  low, 

To  and  fro 
O'er  thy  blushing,  dimpled  cheek, 

Marguerite, 
Whispering  Love's  old  melody, 

Sweet,  to  thee, 

Till  the  morning  sunlight  beaming 
Gently  woos  thee  from  thy  dreaming 

Back  to  me, 
Marguerite,  my  Marguerite. 

ST.    RIC. 


A   MIDSUMMER    NIGHT'S   DREAM 

MOONBEAM  meshes  tangled  lie 

On  the  grass  tops,  in  the  hollow, 
Round  and  round  the  wood  nymphs  fly, 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

Chasing  hard  the  satyrs  follow. 
*'  Catch  us,  catch  us,  if  you  can," 

Laugh  the  wood  nymphs  in  the  hollow. 
Shout  the  satyrs,  "  Follow !  follow  !  " 

"  Catch  us !  "  —  "  Follow  "  —  "if  you 


All  about  the  bright  moon  weaves 

Mingled  shadows,  softly  falling. 
In  and  out  among  the  leaves 

Dance  the  wood  nymphs  gayly  calling. 
"  Catch  us,  catch  us,  if  you  can," 

Laugh  the  wood  nymphs  in  the  hollow. 
Shout  the  satyrs,  "  Follow  !  follow  !  " 

"  Catch  us  !  "  —  "  Follow  "  —  "  if  you 
can." 

Lower,  lower  drops  the  moon, 

Oh,  the  witching  summer  weather  ! 
Hark,  the  midnight  hour!  too  soon 

Moonlight,  fairies  fly  together. 
"  Catch  us,  catch  us,  if  you  can," 

Laugh  the  wood  nymphs  in  the  hollow. 
Shout  the  satyrs,  "  Follow  !  follow  !  " 

«'  Catch  us  !  "  —  "  Follow  "  —  "if  you 
can." 

FLORA    E.     BILLAM. 
'32 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

"WHEN   THE   LAST   LIGHT   DIM 
AND   STILL" 

"  WHEN  the  last  light  dim  and  still 
Trembles  on  the  western  hill, 

Margaret, 

Do  you  yet 

Stand  beside  the  mossy  rill 
Dreaming  else  or  singing  low, 
As  I  saw  you  years  ago  ? 

When  the  shepherds  homeward  go, 
Faring  silently  and  slow, 

Margaret, 

Margaret, 

Do  you  ever,  ever  know, 
Any  of  the  evening  yearning 
Or  regret's  relentless  burning? 

Harboring,  harboring 
Melancholies  in  the  spring, 

We  forget, 

Margaret, 

Peace  dead  memories  might  bring, 
Dear  words  whispered  soft  and  low 
In  the  very  long  ago." 

ROBERT    L.     MUNGER. 

'33 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

A   SONG 

THIS  I  learned  from  the  birds, 

Dear  heart, 
And  they  told  me  in  woodland  words 

Apart  — 

And  they  told  me  true, 
That  all  their  singing  the  summer  through 
Was  of  you,  of  you. 

This  I  learned  from  the  flowers, 

Dear  heart, 
In  the  dewy  morning  hours 

Apart  — 

And  they  sware  it,  too, 
That  all  their  sweetness  the  summer  through 
Was  for  you,  for  you. 

This  I  learned  from  the  leaves, 

Dear  heart, 
On  sully,  starry  eves 

Apart  — 

Though  their  words  were  few, 
That  all  their  signing  the  summer  through 
Was  for  you,  for  you. 

FRANCIS    CHARLES    MCDONALD. 

'34 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

"CRUX   FIDELIS" 

HIGH  in  the  snowy  pinnacle 

Tinkle  the  silvery  convent  bells  ; 

The  brown-robed  monks  come  half  awake 
In  shivering  silence  from  their  cells. 

The  night-wind  blows  the  powdered  snow 
Across  the  naked,  sandalled  feet 

That  shuffle  along  the  cloister-stones, 

Hollowed  with  time  and  glazed  with  sleet. 

They  creep  from  the  snowy  cold  without 

Into  the  stony  cold  within  ; 
The  organ  fills  the  minster  walls 

With  muffled  tones,  and  Lauds  begin. 

One  taper  lights  the  lecturn-book, 

Red  gleam  the  clanking  censer's  coals, 

Into  the  darkness  of  the  nave 

The  great  hymn  of  the  Passion  rolls. 

"  Crux  fidelis,  inter  omnes 
Arbor  una  nobilis  ; 
Silva  talem  nulla  profert 
Fronde,  flore,  germine, 
'35 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

Dulcc  ferrum,  dulcc  lignum, 
Dulce  pondus  sustinent." 

Up  on  the  shrouded  altar-rood 

The  Crucified  hangs  pale  and  dim  ; 

The  organ  peals  for  Holy  Week, 

The  monks  sing  on  the  ancient  hymn  : 

"  Sola  digna  tu  fuisti 
Ferre  mundi  victimam  ; 
Atque  portum  praeparare, 
Area  mundo  naufrago, 
Quam  sacer  cruor  perunxit, 
Fusus  Agni  corpore." 

The  church  is  dark,  the  censer  cold, 

Its  fire  to  ashes  burns  away  : 
The  monks  steal  softly  through  the  night 

To  dream  of  heaven's  eternal  day. 

JOHN    S.     P.    TATLOCK. 


CLOUDLAND 

OVER  the  hills,  at  the  close  of  day, 
Ga/ing  with  listless-seeming  eyes, 
136 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Margery  watches  them  sail  away,  — 
The  sunlit  clouds  of  the  western  skies. 

Margery  sighs  with  a  vague  regret, 

As  slowly  they  fade  from  the  gold  to  gray, 

Till  night  has  come,  and  the  sun  has  set, 

And  the  clouds  have  drifted  beyond  the  day. 

What  are  you  dreaming,  my  little  maid  ? 

For  yours  are  beautiful  thoughts,  I  know  ; 
What  were  the  words  that  the  wild  wind  said, 

And  where,  in  the  dark,  did  the  cloud-ships 
go? 

Come  through  the  window  and  touch  her  hair, 
Wind  of  the  vast  and  starry  deep  ! 

And  tell  her  not  of  this  old  world's  care, 
But  kiss  her  softly,  and  let  her  sleep. 


THE   OLD    LOVE  SONG 

PLAY  it  slowly,  sing  it  lowly, 

Old  familiar  tune  ! 
Once  it  ran  in  dance  and  dimple, 
137 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

Like  a  brook  in  June  ; 
Now  it  sobs  along  the  measures 

With  a  sound  of  tears ; 
Dear  old  voices  echo  through  it, 

Vanished  with  the  years. 

Ripple,  ripple  goes  the  love  song 

Till  in  slowing  rime, 
Early  sweetness  grows  completeness, 

Floods  its  every  rhyme  ; 
Who  together  learn  the  music 

Life  and  death  unfold, 
Know  that  love  is  but  beginning 

Until  love  is  old. 

Play  it  slowly,  it  is  holy 

As  an  evening  hymn  ; 
Morning  gladness  hushed  to  sadness 

Fills  it  to  the  brim. 
Memories  home  within  the  music, 

Stealing  through  the  bars  ; 
Thoughts  within  its  quiet  spaces 

Rise  and  set  like  stars. 


•38 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

DPS   SMILE 

HAVE  you  ever  seen  Di's  smile  ? 

Oh,  'tis  pretty! 
It  is  very  worth  your  while, 
If  you  ever  hap  to  meet  her, 
Not  to  miss  the  chance  to  greet  her 
In  the  park  or  on  the  street, 
To  enjoy  the  subject  sweet, 

Of  my  ditty. 

If  it  does  not  stir  your  heart, 

M ore's  the  pity. 

If  you've  ever  seen  the  ripple  start, 
Coy  with  cherried  lips  opposing,  — 
Pearly  glimpses,  too,  disclosing, 
On  the  rampage,  dimples,  blushes,  — 
What  are  you  that  scornful,  hushes 

My  wee  ditty  ? 

WILLIAM    CLYDE    FITCH. 


A    STOLEN   GLANCE 

I  SING  of  the  grace  of  a  fleeting  face 
And  the  charm  of  a  hurried  glance, 
'39 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

Of  a  form  so  neat  and  a  smile  so  sweet 

In  the  maze  of  the  whirling  dance. 
I  see  her  alone  ;   then  the  vision  has  flown, 

And  the  music  grows  dreamy  and  low. 
The  gay  flashing  light  is  not  half  so  bright, 

And  my  heart-beats  are  heavy  and  slow. 
But  my  heart  I  conceal  till  once  more  do  I  feel 

The  magical  charm  of  her  glance  ; 
For  she  blushes  so  sweet  as  our  eyes  again  meet 

In  the  maze  of  the  whirling  dance. 

JOHN    CLINTON    ANTHONY. 


WHEN    MORNING    BREAKS 

WHEN  morning  breaks  what  fortune  waits  for  me  ? 
What  ships  shall  rise  from  out  the  misty  sea  ? 
What  friends  shall  clasp  my  hand  in  fond  fare 
well  ? 
What  dream- wrought  castles,  as  night's  clouds 

dispel, 
Shall  raise  their  sun-kissed  towers  upon  the  lea  ? 

To-night  the  moon-queen,  shining  wide  and  free, 

To-night  the  shining  breeze,  the  song  and  thee  ; 

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A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

But  time  is  brief.     What  cometh,  who  can 

tell, 

When  morning  breaks  ? 

To-night,  to-night,  then  happy  let  us  be 
To-night,   to-night,   life's   shadowy   cares  shall 

flee! 
And  though  the  dawn  come  in  with   chime 

or  knell, 

When  night  recalls  its  last  bright  sentinel 
I  shall,  at  least,  have  memories  left  to  me, 
When  morning  breaks. 

EDWARD    A.    RALEIGH. 


THE   TARDY-BUG    MEN 

WHERE  were  they  going,  those  Tardy-Bug  Men, 

As  they  trooped  down  the  hill  to  the  valley  ? 

And  what  did  they  do,  and  what  happened  when 

They  trooped  down  the  hill  to  the  valley  ? 
They  carried  the  shadows  to  darken  the  land, 
And  they  called  to  the  toilers  on  every  hand 
To  cease  for  the  passing  of  Tardy-Bug  band, 
As   they  trooped   on   their  way  through  the 
valley. 

141 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

What  were  they  singing,  those  Tardy-Bug  Men, 
As  they  crossed  by  the  bridge  and  the  ferry  ? 

Singing  so  sweetly  along  through  the  glen 

As  they  crossed  by  the  bridge  and  the  ferry  ? 

They  sang  of  the  land  of  the  Lulla-bye  tree 

Where  dreams  are  grown  ripely  for  you  and  for 
me, 

And  they  brought  of  the  fruit  for  the  peasantry 
Who  dwelt  by  the  bridge  and  the  ferry. 

Where  did  they  go,  those  Tardy-Bug  Men, 
When  they  marched  through  the  town  and 

the  country  ? 
And  when  will  they  come  through  the  valley 

again 

With  dreams  for  the  town  and  the  country  ? 
After  the  sun  they  must  steadily  creep, 
Bearing  their  message  of  slumber,  to  keep 
Girdling  the  earth  with  a  rainbow  of  sleep 
For  the  men  of  the  town  and  the  country. 

Why  did  they  come  when  the  sun  had  sunk  low 
And  go  trooping  along  through  the  valley  ? 

Why  did  they  come  from  the  East  and  then  go 
Westward  along  through  the  valley  ? 
142 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

Their  path  is  as  straight  as  the  path  to  the  sun, 
And  their  way  is  as  long,  for  it  never  is  done  ! 
And  the  day  that  they  follow  is  never  begun  — 
For  they  carry  the  night  through  the  valley. 

ALDEN    J.    BLETHEN,    JR. 


WHEN   CHIME   THE   BELLS 

WHEN  chime  bells  at  even-tide, 
And,  spreading  o'er  the  country-side, 
The  quiet  shadows  softly  fall, 
Contentment  comes  to  one  and  all, 
And  happiness  spreads  far  and  wide. 

And  lovers,  sitting  side  by  side, 
In  strong  affection  true  and  tried, 
Their  sweetest  memories  recall 
When  chime  the  bells. 

Their  thoughts  through  realms  enchanted  glide, 
And  seem  on  wings  of  love  to  ride 
Through  Fairyland's  celestial  hall, 
Where  from  their  souls  earth's  troubles  fall, 
When  chime  the  bells. 

LOUIS    V.     WINTER. 

'43 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

BANQUET  SONG 

COMRADES,  fill  the  banquet  cup 

Brimming  up ! 

Fill  it  full  of  love  and  laughter, 
Claret  lips  and  kisses  after  ; 

Crown  it  with  a  maiden's  smiles 
And  the  foam  of  magic  wiles. 
Drink  it,  drain  it,  clink  your  glasses, 
For  the  love  of  loving  lasses 
Ere  it  passes  ! 

Fill  again  the  banquet  cup 

Brimming  up ! 
Overflow  it  with  the  roses 
Which  her  timid  blush  discloses. 
With  her  sparkling  eyelight  sift  it 
Till  it  flavored  is.     Then  lift  it. 
Drink  it,  drain  it,  clink  your  glasses, 
For  the  love  of  loving  lasses 
Ere  it  passes ! 

Comrades,  fill  a  parting  cup 

Brimming  up  ! 

Flood  it  in  your  praise's  zest 
For  the  uninvited  guest. 
'44 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

With  the  charms  and  graces  fill  it, 
Touch  the  lips  and  heartward  spill  it. 

Drink  it,  drink  it,  clink  your  glasses, 

For  the  love  ofloving  lasses 
Ere  it  passes  ! 

EDWIN    OSGOOD    GROVER. 


FOOL'S  BALLAD 

KING  Solomon  were  dunce  though  he 

A  tenfold  wisdom  carried, 
But  Solomon  a  sage  was  he 

A  thousand  times  well  married  ; 
For  lads  will  woo  and  maids  will  wive, 

And  laugh  at  melancholy, 
And  two- and- two  is  counted  five, 

Good  thanks  to  Mistress  Folly. 

Lads,  fill  your  glasses,  aye, 
Laugh  as  life  passes  by, 
Mirrored  iff  lassie's  eye, 
Here's  to  a  fool. 

There  be  of  them  though  e'er  so  wise 
Whose  clumsy  feet  go  dancing, 
145 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

And  follow  after  laughing  eyes 
O'er  dainty  shoulder  glancing  ; 

But  ah,  such  wisdom's  in  the  braids 
Of  pretty  Peg  and  Polly, 

I  do  but  wanton  with  the  maids, 
And  woo  sweet  Mistress  Folly. 

Lads,  f II  your  glasses,  aye, 
Laugh  as  life  passes  by, 
Mirrored  in  lassie's  eye, 
Here's  to  a  fool. 

CHAUNCEV    WETMORE    WELLS. 


DORIS'S  SHOESTRINGS 

ON  Doris's  feet 

Are  the  smallest  of  twos  ; 
But  surely  some  elf 

Has  enchanted  her  shoes, 
For  wherever  we  go, 

If  we  walk,  row  or  ride, 
In  church  or  at  tennis, 

Her  shoe  comes  untied. 
146 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

At  rimes  it  is  trying, 

But  what  can  I  do 
When  poor  Doris  murmurs, 

"  Oh,  bother  that  shoe  !  " 
So  down  I  must  flop 

In  the  dust  and  the  dirt 
To  rie  up  the  shoe 

Of  that  dear  little  flirt. 

These  precious  girl-tyrants  ! 

We  cannot  rebel, 
For  even  their  ribbons 

Are  filled  with  their  spell. 
Since  old-fashioned  aprons 

No  longer  they  use, 
They  tie  a  poor  man 

To  the  strings  of  their  shoes. 

JULIET    WILBUR    TOMPKINS. 


H7 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

HER   LIGHT   GUITAR 

HER  light  guitar  she  sweetly  plays 
With  the  sweetest,  witching  little  ways 
Of  smiling  at  me,  as  I  lie 
Admiring  her,  and  vainly  try 
To  still  the  heart  her  beauty  sways. 
Her  graceful  form  the  fire's  red  rays 
Encircle  with  a  maddening  maze 
Of  mellow  light,  — and  richly  dye 
Her  light  guitar. 


SOUTHERN 

Our  of  my  window,  half  dreaming,  I  leaned, 
My    hands    full    of   passion-flowers    carelessly 

gleaned ; 
The  night  like  some  dusk    damask-rose  just 

a-bloom, 

All  tremulous  with  its  wealth  of  perfume,  — 
Yet  sweeter  than  all    the  sweet  night  touched 

with  dew 

Was  the  thought  in  my  soul  of  you,  sweetheart, 
of  you. 

148 


A  Collection  of  College  Verse 

A  silver-strewn  main  was  the  sweep  of  the  sky, 
Where  the  stars  —  timid  sailors  —  thick-cluster 
ing  lie ; 

And  far  in  the  east  a  golden-lined  boat 
Swinging  wide  at  her    anchor  —  the    young 

moon  afloat  ; 

Yet  fairer  than  all  the  night's  beauty  in  view 
Was  the  dream  that  it  brought  of  you,  sweet 
heart,  of  you. 

From    the    south     through    the    limes     came    a 

passionate  breath 
That  the  faint  wind  scarce  bore  ere  it  swooned 

to  its  death  ; 
Yet  I  grasped  the  sweet  meaning  with  which 

it  was  fraught, 
And  night,  sky  and  stars  —  yea,  the  whole 

world  —  were  naught 
When  once    the   full    import    my  longing   soul 

knew, 

For  a  whisper  it  brought  of  you,   sweetheart, 
of  you. 

E.     M.     LEVIER. 


149 


With  Pipe  and  Book 

TO   THE   VALLEY   OF   DREAMS 

To  memory-land  we  often  go, 

And  yet,  I  wonder  if  we  know 

Just  why  we  slip  from  life's  rough  way 
To  wander  back  for  hours  to  play 

'  Mid  other  scenes  that  charm  us  so  ; 

Or  why,  when  sinking  sun  is  low 
And  changing  blue  is  all  aglow, 
We  journey  through  the  twilight  day 
To  memory-land  ? 

But  long  as  sunset  breezes  blow, 
And  field-flowers  sweet  wave  to  and  fro, 
So  long  will  you  and  I  obey 
The  tender  notes,  th'  entrancing  lay 
Of  bard  of  dreams,  and  hie,  I  trow, 
To  memory-land. 

T.     B.     R. 


150 


AUTHOR  INDEX 


Adams,  Elizabeth  Kemper,  93 
Anthony,  John  Clinton,  24, 
'39 

Billam,  Flora  £.,  131 
Blethen,  AldenJ.,  141 
Brastow,  Lewis  Ladd,  87 
Buchanan,  T.  W.,  62 

Call,  Arthur  D.,  70 
Camp,  Frederick  Stanley,  48 
Chapeau,  Carl,  109 
Conger,  Harry  Rutgers,  64 
Cooke,  R.  P.,  96 
Copeland,  G.  A.,  40 
Craven,  Gertrude,  94 

Daskam,  J.  D.,  128 
Dillman,  Will,  41 

Eddy,  William  Holden,  126 

Field,  William  H.,  20,  119 
Fitch,  William  Clyde,  1 39 
Forbush,  William  Byron,  129 

Gillespie,  Louis  Packard,  76 


Gillette,  George  W.,  33 
Grover,  Edwin  Osgood,  144 

Hayes,  Robert  Priestley,  104 
Hefferan,  Mary,  71 
Hinsdale,  F.  G.,  75 
Houghton,  A.  B.,  103 
Hutchinson,  Norman,  83 

Johnson,  Emily  S.,  34,  86 
Jones,  Gertrude,  39 
Jones,  S.  A.,  72 

Ketchum,  Arthur,  13,  36 
Knowles,  Frederic  Lawrence, 
*3»3'>99 

Leonard,  Ellsworth,  III 
Levier,  E.  M.,  149 
Linn,  James  Weber,  2,  66 
Livingston,  S.  T.,  82 
Lord,  Augustus  M.,  51,  67 

McClellan,  George  Brown 
ing,  120 

McDonald,  Francis  Charles, 
'34 


Author  Index 


McKinncy,  Fanny  L.,  35 
McLean,  Mary  Hollands,  60 
Magce,  Louis  Jones,  47 
Merrill,  Charles  E.,  Jr.,  13 
Milne,  Ruth  Parsons,  68 
Morris,  Emily  Eugenia,   78 
Munger,  Robert  L.,  28,  56, 
95,  118,  131 

Pierce,  Clay  Arthur,  80 
Pike,  Charles  Sumner,  1 4, 28 
Pitman,  N.  H.,  52 
Porter,  Harry  C.,  85 
Potter,  David,  19,  121 
Pratt,  James  Binett,  61 

Quinn,  Arthur  Hobson,  101 

Raleigh,  Edward  A.,  140 
Reed,  Amy  Louise,  25 
R timer,  Marie,  21 

Sanborn,  Thomas  P. ,  8  8 , 1  o  3 
Sawyer,  J.  P.,  91 
Scollard,  Clinton,   78,   105, 
1 08 


Scribner,  Annie  Nyhan,  119 
Simmons,     Theodore     Hin- 

man,  112 

Stamon,  Frank  L.,  45 
Stone,  Henry  Morgan,  1 5 

Tatlock,  John  S.  P.,  135 
Thomas,    Albert    Ellsworth, 

27 
Thomas,     Charles     Edward, 

"7 

Thorndike,   Ashley   Horace, 

46 
Tompkins,    Juliet     Wilbur, 

18,  53,  89,  147 
Townsend,  H.  H.,  30 

Webster,  Henry  K..,  109 
Wells,   Chauncey  Wetmore, 

SO.  H5 
Welsh,  Henry  Hunter,  101, 

"5 

White,  Eugene  Richard,  73 
Williams,  James  Dawes,  52 
Winter,  Louis  V.,  143 


152 


LONDON  BOOK  CO. 
224  W.  Broadway 


